The Silent Storm
by TheGOTAddict
Summary: Lyonel Baratheon, second born to Robert and Cersei Baratheon, better known as The Silent Storm. Said to have the wits of Tyrion Lannister and the strength of his father in his prime. And as ruthless as Tywin, if not more. Read as his true loyalties are revealed, and as he begins to question everything he once stood by resolute. AU. Rated M for violence and future lemon. OC/Arya.
1. Arrival in Winterfell

The young prince's gazing eyes reflected that of his name, dark blue like the sky during a storm and a stare that could be as daunting to his peers as the thunder that accompanied it. The Silent Storm beheld the open fields of the North with pine hills and wild forests dotting the distant horizon, and glowed with a golden tint from the light of the rising sun. The previously gentle wind that caressed his skin and stiffened the hair on his neck was now a strong breeze up on the hill from which he studied the lands before him, sweeping against his crest of black hair. Thankfully, the thin fur coat proved enough for him in keeping the cold at bay from the rest of his body. The greatest feature the sight before him produced proved to be nothing other than the great grey castle walls of Winterfell itself, the ancestral seat of House Stark, erected in the heart of the North by Bran the Builder. Its imposing stature dwarfed its surroundings, the towers like spears piercing the sky, and his eyes spotted a settlement outside its walls, neat rows of log and stone houses littering the roadside. If he remembered correctly, that would be the _Winter Town_ of Winterfell.

Lyonel Baratheon, son of Robert and Cersei Baratheon, shook his head curtly in mild annoyance and disappointment. _Had it not been for the drunken oaf everyone calls my father, and King, we would have already been within Winterfell's walls._ But it would be foolish to think it would be so easy and uneventful with Robert Baratheon, the Whoremonger King, as the royal party's head. Had it not been for the two flagons of wine that found their way into his great belly, they would have already been done with this godsforsaken journey across the kingdoms a night ago. And the poor beast that had been forced to bear Lyonel on its back for two months was now granted a rare opportunity of reprieve. He held the horse's reins, hands plucking grass which _popped_ when uprooted, and held it up to the equine's mouth. Its hair was as black as coal. Young yet especially strong for its age was the steed, mirroring its rider.

In fact, it would not surprise him if the servants and noblemen and commons began spreading rumours of Lyonel possessing the strength of a great stallions. Most ignorant fools had already begun rumours of his strength matching that of The Mountain That Rides. His younger siblings found it amusing, and he would have, too, had he not despised idiocy. It only served to annoy him, and not once in his fifteen and a half years of life had it proved anything but. Despite this, not even he could deny his impressive strength, for he could already overpower most men. If he was not already as strong as The Mountain, a fact known to him, he would most certainly be so when he had finally grown into an adult, if not surpass him. His simple black tunic belted with leather hid a body that was of robust and muscular build, sinewy, with equal strength in his entire body. Copulation of the body excercises and his natural strength, inherited from paternal blood, was the root of such vitality at his age. Some would even mistake him to be older than his true age, simply based on his appearance. Though he suspected his height to also have factored into the wrong assumptions, despite being shorter than an adult.

Lyonel knew not what men and women considered attractive and handsome, but from what he gathered of ill-veiled whispers and glances he'd received in his wake, most women considered him to be handsome. His head was crowned by a black mane that reached the highest point of his neck, and was pointed by a widow's peak. He would have been mirror image of his father had his face not sported the Lannister cheekbones it does now, high and protruding, and a sharpness equal to his jawline. All features were accentuated by his hollow cheeks, further increasing his handsomeness. He _assumed_ that was what women liked. The reason for his uncertainty and ignorance was simple. He was never interested in women. Or men for that matter. He was… cold to it. Uncaring. He simply couldn't care about anything sexual whatsoever. He was only curious as to how it was done, but after that… nothing.

His indifference ofttimes had him compared to his uncle Stannis. Not only for his callousness to sexuality, but also for his apparent humourless and stern outlook in life. And yet, in truth, he was not humourless, for even he japed at times to make his younger siblings laugh. Even if it was the only reason he ever japed. He rarely spoke, either, never heralding banter or casual talk if not with his loved ones. Almost never; for he found nearly everyone he has met either despicable or simply boring to the point where he does not consider a few words to be worth speaking. And seeing how he viewed most people, his words were as rare as the sight of a Kraken. Thus he earned his nickname, _The Silent Storm_ , ironically reflecting his own namesake, Lyonel the Laughing Storm.

Regardless, it did not seem to diminish women's view of him. Or his handsomeness, at least. Their view of _him_ however, the true Lyonel Baratheon, was a far cry from the former. They all thought him a heartless monster. And he couldn't blame them. They now knew how he viewed himself.

He could recall it like it was yesterday. It was the first time he killed someone. The age of three-and-ten, he was. He remembered everything in vivid detail. He'd snuck away from Maester Pycelle's lesson. Yet another drudging lecture on the Dance of Dragons. A story he had already heard from his uncle Tyrion, though his way telling the tale had been far more interesting. And so, he snuck away. He remembered paying some street urchin for dirty rags, to disguise himself as a coal boy. He had smeared soot all over his face and torso and arms. He was running down an alley, it was in… the Street of Silk. Yes, the alleyway two buildings west of Littlefinger's brothel. He even recalled jumping over a one-legged beggar who had tripped over an out-of-place cobblestone.

He enjoyed doing so, running through the streets, at times even climbing. It often involved him climbing past open windows of men and women gasping in surprise, interrupted from their coupling, their women's moans of pleasure turning to gasps and screams. He had learned to easily avoid thrown candles, and to his disgust, undergarment soiled by something he doubted was piss. At times, though, it was even just some poor woman startled while pouring out the water from a bucket used for her laundry.

Though this time, it was different. He knew it. He could feel it like a nagging voice in the back of his mind. He was being watched. Worse, followed. It had turned out to be a serial murderer and rapist, and as a response for having plagued the city ever since the Sack, he had amassed a bounty of one hundred gold dragons. Many a weeping women had been found wearing torn clothes, a knife mark on the skin of their throat, bites and claw marks upon their breasts and seed dripping down their thighs. The lucky ones were found with open throats. He found this out _after_ he had dragged the ugly, portly man by his hair to the middle of the cobblestone street, and killed him in a most brutal fashion. He began smashing his face into the ground with abandon, yet methodically all the while. It was a disturbing, meticulous sight, the same curt length of pause between each smash. He had not stopped until after twenty five times, each for the man's victims. But he had not done it for them. He did it to show others never to provoke his ire, to attempt to take him away from his few loved ones. By the end of his rage-filled trance, the man's skull was visible through the front of his face, eyes nearly hanging out of their nigh-ruined sockets.

The shame he was struck by was indescribable by mere words.

Most guards could not stomach the sight, and lost their breakfast right there on the street. His mother had been horrified, so much so she had not even beaten him. He did not know his father's reaction, since he did not see him for a week after. But he didn't care. He was glad to not have seen the man.

That was when they all began to truly pay attention to him. And that was the only consequence of what he did that he regretted. He hated attention. He was always comfortable in the shadows, darkness was his ally. Obscurity from social situations, and otherwise. He never understood others. He felt like he wasn't even human himself. So many a things that seemed so natural and even instinctual confused him.

It was not until the incident with the rapist and murderer that he truly realized how hollow he was. For that was the true cause of his shame. Not to have murdered someone so brutally. But to have felt nothing but rage and hatred while doing so.

Lyonel quickly removed the thought from his head. He hated thinking on the subject. He was only reminded of lack of emotions, something he needed no reminder of.

This was when _all_ of the rumours surrounding Lyonel began. And strength was not all men and women spoke of when gossiping. Although some say he is as sharp and clever as his uncle Tyrion, if not his grandfather, the Old Lion Tywin, most think him only cunning in the art of warfare. And such was his intention. It would be foolish to let others know of his true genius, and his skills at intrigue. So much had he learned of the game of thrones from his beloved uncle Tyrion.

He would have smiled, but there was no one to fabricate a mask of emotions for. Only him and his steed was up on that hill. Yet he could not help but feel… content… at the thought of the uncle he was so fond of. He loved him. Or at least, what Lyonel's twisted version of love was. He was more of a father to Lyonel than the Whoremonger King ever was. He taught him to keep his mind acute with books, to never lose its edge and only keep sharpening it. Lyonel already had the advantage of extreme intelligence, yet his true cunning was born from his time with Tyrion Lannister, the Imp. And thanks to him, Lyonel learned to truly make use of said intelligence.

If only his remaining uncles could have been as wholesome. Renly, perhaps the most careless, flippant, flamboyant, and spoiled man he knew. He cared naught more for the man than the man cared for anything but meaningless floridity and sport. A family starves for his expensive cloths and garments, and commons are raped and murdered for the lack of coins to pay guards simply so he could purchase that Myrish lace that caught his eye. Once, during Lyonel's visit to the land of his forebears, Renly thought up a most amusing game to gamble on. He placed Lyonel on the seat of Storm's end for a week, and brought matters of the land and of the vassals to him. To everyone's astonishment, not only had he managed to avoid causing complete mayhem, his bewildering competence in stewardship, for a boy of three-and-ten, was most surprising. Most matters were small, yet once there had been a dispute between a member of House Penrose and Estermont. A wounded pride and poorly disguised insults might have erupted into a blood-feud. It was shocking to Lyonel how fragile people were to words.

Renly was clearly torn between siding with his Castellan's house or his mother's house, all while failing to see the obvious, and most fair, solution. However, Lyonel was not, and with a false mask of youthful innocence, he veiled the answer to their dispute through questions and statements hinting towards said solution. By the end of the day, it had been resolved and the two instigators of this foolish dispute shook hands in front of the court. As they did, Lyonel could see that he had failed to fool the Castellan of Storm's End, and head of his own house, Ser Cortnay Penrose, who stared at him with smiling eyes and a knowing smirk. Afterwards, away from the sights of others, Ser Cortnay introduced his orphaned nephew, and Lyonel finally found a true friend outside his own blood.

Not only did Renly prove more incompetent than his nephew of three-and-ten in ruling, but also diplomacy. This, combined with how flippant, lazy, and spoiled them man was, truly diminished all respect he could ever have hoped to receive from Lyonel.

His last Lannister uncle, however, was few of these things. And Lyonel could not say he disliked him. Yet there were few he was as different to as Jaime Lannister. Arrogant, inappropriately jestful, and without direction, it seemed. To be truthful, he thought little on his uncle, and not in an insulting way. He simply did not care for him. He was indifferent bordering on dislike, but not quite there.

He heard the hooves of a horse clop behind him, and he was broken out of his musing. "My prince," said a voice, wise and kind.

Without turning to face the source, he spoke, and revealed a voice deep for his age, nowhere near as deep as an adult's regardless. "Ser Barristan."

"Your mother was worried to have found you gone without a trace. She well-nigh sent out all the guards search for you."

 _I'm glad to have worried her_ , he would have said. But he would not bother Ser Barristan with his own problems. He respected the man far too much to burden him with matters unrelated to him. His silence was an obvious sign that he could not care less about her. With a graceful yet simple flourish, he flung himself atop the saddle of his steed, and without words necessary he finally turned to face the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. And he returned a ghost of a smile in response to the kind one that was sent his direction from Barristan, before they retired from the hilltop and rode their way back to the party. Scant of men there was that he respected more than the knight now beside him on a horse as white as his cape. Both he and Lyonel's uncle, Jaime, had trained him in wielding a blade. They did their best, yet despite their efforts, Lyonel only turned out rather average, barely better than a man-at-arms. Though the fault was far from theirs. It was Lyonel who had spent time training and honing his other skills, among them was the blacksmith's profession. He found at a younger age, his hands were made for the art of blacksmithing. And now, most would consider him a master. It was not surprising. His natural strength, meticulous nature, steady hands, and his master, helped see to it.

Tobho Mott was his name. A Qohorik master of crafts, possessing even the knowledge of reforging valyrian steel. A closely guarded secret, yet a knowledge he deemed prudent in passing on to his favorite pupil, an apprentice he could be most proud of. Lyonel, the Silent Storm. This would, at times, lead to him neglecting his other student. A boy his age. Gendry. Lyonel had not missed the bitter looks he had been sent by him. Yet he paid them no mind, for he didn't become Master Mott's apprentice to earn friends, but to learn. And learn, he did, quickly so. Regardless, there was always a feeling of recognition he felt whenever he looked upon Gendry's face, and met his equal dark blue eyes. He could never shake the feeling, and yet he could not remember where he had seen him before. But, akin to his attitude towards Gendry's bitterness, he ignored these feelings in favour of learning.

Another skill he possessed, and another he had mastered, was the art of the bow. Though, this time, his master's reputation was far from being of note. He called himself Anguy the Archer. Originally but a commonborn from the Dornish Marches, he had arrived in King's Landing during a tourney alongside Lord Dondarrion, several years before. He won the archery competition with ease, and took the prize. After the tourney had finished, Lyonel visited Anguy, who had been visiting a blonde, full-breasted whore in Baelish's brothel. The first words he spoke to his yet-to-be-master at the time caused a laughter to burst from his lips. "Are you a sorcerer?" he asked, with no prior words or context. The blonde he was with giggled, and called him adorable. He may have always been an odd child, yet a child he remained. And at such a young age, the astonishing, almost miraculous display of archery deluded him with theories of sorcery. He misjudged Anguy to be a sorcerer, guiding his arrows masterfully with the use of wind magic. He was only further astonished when he was told it was but pure skill, the outcome of years and years of constant training.

After explaining who he was, to Anguy's surprise, he asked the man if he would train Lyonel as his apprentice. Truthfully, he had not expected Anguy to accept. Even young did he realize the wild nature of some men. They would rather live life for their own sake, wandering with no direction and adapting to where ever they would end up. He was pleasantly surprised when, after a long and scrutinizing stare, Anguy finally smiled and voiced his decision. "Meet me outside the city walls on the morrow, the forest east of here. Bring your own bow 'n quiver, lad. No doubt you've enough coin to buy five scores of 'em 'fore your purse starts feeling a touch light. Then we'll train your eyes 'til they're sharper than Sevenstrings' tongue, here," he said, motioning his head towards a man holding a harp in his hands, surrounded by many a women, enraptured looks in their eyes. If anything, Lyonel thought his nose was sharper than his tongue. The man had thin, almost stringy brown hair falling from his head.

The day after, Lyonel showed up with his own bow and quiver, as asked of him. And he trained for years and years until his aim was impeccable, and his eyes could rival a hawk's. It helped when reading a man's body language as well, but that was another matter. And despite his talent and training, Anguy could yet defeat him, without a doubt in the world. But not without some challenge. During the many years of being mentored by him, Lyonel had grown to respect the man immensely, and even thought him close to a friend. It was a year ago that Anguy departed to return to the Marches whence he was born, "Next time we see 'chother, you'd best keep your eyes sharper than valyrian steel, and your cock wet with a woman's arousal. And you'll tell me every single detail. Until we meet again, princeling." Those were his parting words.

Lyonel promised himself he would do the former. The latter, however, he doubted would happen. If he were to ever get his ' _cock wet'_ , it would be with his wife, and one had yet to be unfortunate enough to be assigned such a duty. He refused to be anything like his parents. His father's infidelity was infamous, and he did not intend to hear men and women of the court whisper of Lyonel the Silent Storm inheriting his father's craving lust and infidelity.

It only ired him all the more to hear his father boast of him, that he loved and respected his second-born son, singing tall tales of his skills in smithing or archery, despite having once referred to the latter as a coward's weapon. The most prominent of such tales were of his Baratheon hunt. Every male Baratheon that reached the age of four-and-ten was to have a hunt in celebration of their name-day, his father declared, as Lyonel's grandfather, father, and uncles had done before him. His older brother's, Joffrey, was less than satisfactory for his father. The vainglorious shit was rather fond of crossbows, and as such, Joffrey had chosen one to hunt with. It took four quarrels for him to finally slay it, and even then his father had to deal the killing strike to the heart with a knife. Joffrey had apparently tortured the animal deliberately and needlessly.

Lyonel's was quite the opposite, and their hunts reflected their persons perfectly. They were as different as night was from day, as ice was from fire. And they held no love for the other. One quiet, skilled, sharp and shrewd. The other loud, cruel, without skill or training, and as dangerous as an old toy cudgel with wits to match. And Lyonel proved his superiority of skill during his own hunt. This was one tall tale that struck most as only that, a tall tale; yet it was in truth what rightly happened.

He could see himself there now, surrounded by tall looming trees, their elms turning his sky green with only a few strands of light leftover from the sun piercing past the branches and leaves. He could smell the nature about him, hear the running stream of the river, and sense wild scurrying of startled animals around him. As if before his eyes at that very moment of reminiscence, he saw a stag; and how great it was! Proud and tall, hearty as a horse! Its barbed and spiked antlers crowned the stag's head, and no other crown was there more befitting of such magnificence.

He gripped the spear's shaft tightly, having discarded the bow, if only to avoid his father's tedious bouts of anger at using such "cowardly" weapons. Their eyes met, Baratheon and Stag, dark blue to chestnut brown. Lion and prey. But the stag knew no better. It reared its head, displaying its crown of antlers and powerful frame; a challenge. One the lyon would not back down from. With eyes shut close and grip loosening on his spear, he breathed in through his nose, filling his lungs with nature's gift. At the sound of his spear's muffled fall to the ground, he breathed out, and his eyes opened.

A most peculiar sight was envisioned before him, for no longer was he in the forests. It was a meadow he stood in, and great-elmed trees surrounded the field. Erected in the very middle was a great ashen trunk, a blood-weeping face carved into it, its blood red leaves cascading down from branches that so much resembled the bones of twisted, elongated fingers. Envisaged before him was a manifestation of the gods he followed; the great heart tree of the old gods. Unlike all in the south, he did not follow the Seven. As a child, yet to grow even a single chin hair, he would pray to the Seven. And pray he did, zealously so, for answers to questions which he had not even the whit of a fancy what to do with. All he wished to know was the cause for his mother's hatred, and her abuses. Why was he subject to such cruel and cold stares, and beatings at the smallest provocations?

The answer refused him, and so he refused their faith. He would abandon them as he was abandoned. But it helped not to stave off the hollowness he felt, and the thirst for answers. He looked towards the only other gods whose shrines resided in King's Landing. The old gods. Kneeling before it, he prayed, just as he did before the shrines of the Seven, even the Stranger. Only this time had he heard something. A bodiless whisper, carried on the wind like leaves, brushed against his ears. A faint sound at first. It repeated itself many a times to him, and suddenly, as if knowing he finally heard it, it faded with a final, cryptic sigh. " _Lyonel_." There were none around him. Only him, and the old gods. Ever since, he followed them, much to the chagrin and displeasure of the High Septon.

"Not once had I heard even an utterance of an answer from your precious Seven, High Septon," he answered, when confronted by the portly, many-chinned septon. "It was the old gods who whispered in return to my prayer, no matter if it aided none to answer my question. A simple whisper is more than your gods ever did."

And here he was again, before a heart tree, a gentle wind carrying his name spoken in a whisper. " _Lyonel..._ " Absentmindedly, his eyes followed the great stag as it appeared before him again. It took him a few second to acknowledge its existence, and he finally recognized it, as it did him. Four times it stomped, flinging twigs and sprigs behind itself, blowing and snorting at him.

It braced to charge him, and Lyonel counted, _one, two, three_. It lunged itself forward, letting out a its own version of a furious cry, feets stomping against the ground as it quickly began closing the distance between them.

As he stood staring at the great beast charging him, something inside him awoke. An urge, instinct wrested out from within him by a force unknown to him. Slowly, he realized what event would occur here. This stag was his prey, and nothing it could do would stop him from killing it. For that is what would happen, and he knew it. The world around him fell into silence, and he heard nothing but his own heartbeat and breath, and the sound of the stomping hooves of the charging stag. So, with no vision of anything but completing the task of killing the beast, he moved. It was but a shuffle at first, legs slowly wading past bushes and brambles, his feet wading aside broken branches and twigs. And before he even realized it, the stag was suddenly getting bigger and bigger as he got closer.

He was running, Lyonel realized. And an impossibly long time did he run. His lungs burned as if engulfed by a searing flame and he could hear his heart beat just as slowly as it would when he slept. _Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_. It pounded in his ears like a slow, tribal chant. The puling in his ears was accompanied by his running blood, as though it was a flowing river. His own breath matched his heartbeat for speed, and he had yet to feel any exertion bar the one in his lungs.

There was no logic in this, no reason, no thought. It was madness. He knew it.

And he didn't care.

Suddenly, he was only meters away from the stag. It lowered its head before thrusting upwards, intent on gutting him, and Lyonel attempted to block the strike responsively. To his disbelief and shock, its bony barbs pierced his hands, and yet he could feel nothing. His heels dug up dirt as he was pushed back before he asserted his stance firmly. There was no pain, no struggle. It might as well have been attempting to charge a stone wall. Single barbs protruded out the back of his hands, and the stag was stuck like a fly attempting to wiggle itself from a spider's web. Its struggling scarcely budged his arms. He did not even question the clearly abnormal happening in front of his very eyes.

He realized the great beast was at his mercy. His arms tensed, and with a growl he began to slowly bend its right antler and rotating its head with the other. Its neck moved at an awkward angle and prevented it from moving any longer. His growl slowly developed louder and louder, until he finally let out a roar, followed by the snap of the stag's now-broken antler, and the stags pained cries. Lyonel only stared at the shard end of the broken antler for seconds, before he thrusted the antler into its muscled throat. The stag slowly lost strength, its crimson life pouring from its wound in a stream, painting a bloody swath on its fur across its flank. As its struggling faded slowly, he realized it was time for him to finish it off. He gradually rotated its neck to the right as it slowly bled, a most grotesque sight when one realized the stag yet lived, before using his left arm to suddenly pull its remaining antler down the opposite side and his right arm to carve open it from throat to neck with the shard end of the broken antler, snapping its neck and nearly decapitating it simultaneously. Red blood arced through the sky from the open neck wound, and painted the green grass a grim rouge.

He removed its antler from his hand, the barb sinking out before its head landed on the flood with a thud. He stared at the small red hole in his hand before clenching his fist and shutting his eyes once more. Slowly, the sound of his flowing blood and beating heart faded, replaced by a muffled shout. The sound became clearer by the second, until…

" _LYONEL!_ "

His eyes snapped open, and he turned around to see his red-faced father running as fast as his fat would allow him. It was Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime who ran past him, despite the weight of their armour, and arrived first to stare at him in equal shock. He suddenly became aware of the throbbing pain in his hands, and he unclenched his fists. He could feel the warm blood trickling down the length of his fingers in rivulets of red. He became aware of his surroundings not long after. He was in the forest again, and behind him was no heart tree. Only more oak trunks headed by green elms, and past them was the sound of the running river. He looked down and saw the half-headless stag.

He knew his father had finally caught up when he heard the heavy breaths and pants for air right behind him. A hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around. His father looked at him with concern, and anger at his thoughtless actions, "Your hands, boy!" Lyonel slowly held up his hands to present the twin holes the antlers had pierced.

Jaime said, "We saw you twist the antler right off. These wounds should be graver. Have you wrought your own flesh from iron, nephew? A blacksmith even in my sister's belly." He could see the uneasiness in the man's eyes, despite his amazed, almost japing tone.

Suddenly his father let out a boisterous bellow of laughter, scaring off any remaining animals that might have still remained, "A true man kills with his own hands; is such what you're showing us, boy!?" He slapped a hand down on his shoulder, "This'll be a tale to tell for many years to come, lad! Perhaps a belly full of venison ought to sate your pain! We'll have plenty from this one," he said, nodding towards the stag. They carried it off, but halfway back to their camp, he could no longer ignore the piercing pain in his hands when it became worse, almost unbearable. His attempts to hide the pain failed to fool Ser Barristan, who voiced his concern for him. The only one that cared enough to notice.

"My prince, leave the carcass with his grace and Ser Jaime. We must return and wrap these wounds, with haste if you will."

Later that day, his father called for a feast, and served _all_ of their hunt's spoils. Lyonel was allowed the first carve and bite of the venison. When his teeth pierced the flesh, the feast began. Dancers danced and singers sang praises while jesters evoked laughter from the crowd. He cared naught for it, and ignored all who performed before his father, while he sat between Myrcella and Tommen, keeping them company. By the feast's end, he went to bed with a belly full and a headache.

Never had he imagined it possible to hate someone who praised him. Yet here he was, clenching his hand every time his mutton-headed father spoke praises of him as if he had done it himself. Had it been any other than his father or mother, and he might not have been bothered. But they had nothing to do with how he became who and what he is this day. He had no mother, or anything even resembling one, and his two uncles were fathers to him, a dwarf, and a hard, brittle man.

Yet there were no men greater than them, none more cunning than Tyrion the Imp, and none as staunch and firm in his morals and beliefs as Stannis Baratheon. Black and white as they may be. They shared immense mutual respect for each other, and both shared equal love for Stannis' daughter, Shireen. She might as well have been his younger sister, for he loved her as if she was. Her heart was as big and golden as Myrcella's, yet her shyness and innocence had an endearing effect on him. Every moon turn, he would send her books to keep her company in his absence.

Currently, he would give anything to be there now and meet his cousin after so long, instead of this godsforsaken journey, lengthened by the unreliable carriage his mother insisted so zealously to use breaking down. Perhaps breaking is the only thing one could rely on the carriage doing. But he had Tommen and Myrcella, and that was more than enough for him to bear himself through this boredom. _They were the reason I had not accompanied Uncle Tyrion to journey ahead._ No doubt he had already found a brothel to warm himself in as he waited for their unnecessarily delayed party.

Lyonel and Ser Barristan soon found the party entering their vision, and the knight's words pierced their way past his deep musing, and startled his mind awake to focus, "The carriage seems to have broken down once more."

No doubt Ser Barristan had deduced such from the angered roars of his father, threatening to burn down the ' _Pile of broken wooden shit_ '. "My siblings?"

"They are awake, waiting by the carriage with your mother."

"Gratitude," was the curt reply from Lyonel before his reins snapped and his horse spurred into a galloping speed. It did not take long before he found himself halting his black steed in front of a carriage tilted by a dislocated wheel. His queen mother stood several meters away, flanked by all her children but him, including Joffrey, and glared impatiently at the Lannister men attempting to fix the carriage.

"Good morning, Lyonel!" Tommen and Myrcella echoed each other, and laughed lightly.

He placed a smile upon his lips, "Tommen. Myrcella."

His mother's face was cold, as were her eyes as she spoke to him, "You were not here this morning."

Joffrey sneered at him, "Perhaps for the best. A brute would only help bring headache during mornings."

Despite her cold nature to her second-born, she would sooner remove her own hands before allowing her sons' to turn against each other, "He is your brother yet; I will not hear you speak such words to him."

 _Let him_ , Lyonel thought. _His words hold no value to me._

Tommen was clearly as impatient as his mother's glare, though not as angry. Anger and hatred was never in Tommen's nature. "When will they be done, mother?"

She placed her hand on his shoulder and brought him close, "Soon, my little lion."

Seeing his sibling's impatience was cause enough for Lyonel to unmount his horse and walk over to the guards to help. "Move aside," he said and squatted between two of the guardsmen, hands gripping beneath the carriage. He counted down from three, and on three, with the guards' assistance, he lifted with the relative ease before one of the men to his flank proceeded to force the wheel back into place. With a silent sigh of relief passing from his nose, Lyonel released his grip.

At the sound of small clapping, he turned around and saw his younger siblings applauding him, and Tommen proceeded to run ahead and embrace him, "Thank you so much!"

He only smiled, and thought upon the luck he had to have been granted a brother of such kind heart. Tommen was grateful for even the smallest things, as Lyonel had intended him to be. _He possesses the makings of a great and humble man. One I will be proud to call brother. Would that Joffrey had been crafted of such mold._

But he was not, and the time for making amends had passed when Joffrey's cruel whims involved an infant Myrcella. From then on, he swore to see his brother dead if only to see his younger siblings live life merrily. The last time Joffrey had ever attempted to beat Tommen and Myrcella was during the age of thirteen. This time, he held a knife towards Myrcella for defending Ser Pounce from the very same blade. _It was the shouting that caught my attention._ And to part doors to find him holding a knife to her had blackened my heart and mind with a red rage. Before he even had time to scream, Joffrey was back against the ground, his face mottled with already bruising wounds and blood pouring from a broken nose as Lyonel raised fists and struck down at him, his own face marred with fury.

He went even further, breaking two of his fingers, and had intended to cripple the weeping little craven cunt had Myrcella's cry not pierced the darkness that befell his mind. _Joffrey's saviour is the one he torments. If Myrcella's heart had not been so kind…_

Again, he was broken from thought once again by Ser Barristan, though now with Ser Jaime at his side. Lyonel's father summoned him, and despite his hatred of the man, he would be scant of sense to ignore a mere summoning. It would not be worth the _disciplinary_ actions. With this in thought, he allowed his mother and siblings to enter the carriage before mounting his steed again and riding to his father.

He found him ironically on the very same hill Ser Barristan had found him but minutes ago. The cause most like being that it was the best vantage point of Winterfell their position boasted. Once beside the man, the two kingsguards were dismissed. His father was a man great of belly and voice, both enlarged by wine. His big beard hid his many chins, yet his red cheeks were yet uncovered.

"Look upon the sight before you, lad," his father said, arm outstretched towards Winterfell and the town fronting it. "What do you see?"

 _A meaningless riddle or question? It is meaningless, regardless._ "Winterfell."

He smiled, pride and respect showing in his eyes. "Aye," he grunted, nodding slowly. "And the castle that birthed the greatest man I've had the honour of knowing. Ned is a brother in all but name and blood to me, Lyonel. And I intend to have our houses joined. Joffrey is to be king after I pass onto the afterlife, and I would have Baratheon and Stark seated upon the throne."

 _A curse to your so-called brother, to suffer his children through Joffrey._

Once more Robert nodded towards the castle, "Look. You've read of its history, without doubt. And you know it holds one of the most honorable men I've ever known. What do you think of it?"

Lyonel's ever silent tongue frustrated the man at times, but during most times it only brought sadness, as it did now. He knew his son held no love for him, despite his attempts to mend their relations. If only he had showed such effort of time and love for Tommen and Myrcella. Perhaps _then_ …

A sigh passed his lips as an ever returning ache in his heart was suffered. The prince knew of his father's regret, and yet he cared little. Regret would not undo what had been done to his siblings by Joffrey and his negligence as a father. He held no forgiveness in his own heart for him.

Robert let out a sudden and genuine laughter, "Your silence and brooding reminds me of Ned. Had you not been mine, one could have mistaken you for a bloody Stark!"

He allowed his father his laughter, but his ever-blank expression had now formed contours almost resembling a frown. _I have no people but my loved ones. I stand with none but them. I stand neither with northmen or stormlanders. I am whatever and whoever my loved ones need me be. Naught more._

As his father's bellows faded, the king grew serious and frowned, "Call upon your brother! We arrive soon, and I will have you both ride together through the gates of Winterfell. You are both princes and brothers, and you shall act accordingly. There will be no arguing from neither of you."

 _I learned long ago arguments do nothing to sway your bullheaded mind._

He turned his horse around, and rode off to commit himself to yet another torturous task with Joffrey.

* * *

 **Lyonel**

* * *

Ignoring a furtively fuming Joffrey beside him, Lyonel's steed carried him past the cheering commoners at a prancing pace. Most of the commonfolk held awe and excitement in their expressions and eyes, and a few keen eyes recognized him, replacing previous excitement with a hint of fear and nervousness. It was a look commonplace after the rumours and stories of his brutality arose into prominence, and was the talk of the court in many a castles. Mayhaps most would have cared what they _think_ of him, had they been in his position. But he strived to change what they _know._

A most curious sight shifted his vision to his left flank, amongst the crowd. There, atop a wagon, stood a young girl wearing clothes not of peasant origin. Her face, like most others, held awe and amazement, but she wore a guardsman's helmet that dipped to cover her eyes It was clearly too large for her. Their eyes met, dark blue against grey. Her eyes looked as if they contained mist, like the eyes a woman born blind would have, but fainter, and with the pupil yet visible. Her recognition was given away by the widening of the eyes, yet what happened to them after confused him greatly. Her surprise was replaced by an even more intense form of excitement, causing her lips to break out into a full grin, and he lost sight of her as she jumped down from the wagon.

 _Mayhaps she has me mistaken for someone else_. He shook off the odd exchange of looks, and set eyes before him as they passed beneath the walls into the courtyard after some time of riding. He and his brother paused near the middle, waiting the arrival of the carriage harboring his queen mother and royal siblings, and soon after, his father.

This was when he finally saw the house of Stark with his own eyes. The most prominent, tall figure amongst them was of somber expression and long face, dark hair adorned his head and his eyes were grey resembling those of the girl he saw before, though not quite so misty. _Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, son of Rickard, brother of Brandon, Benjen, and Lyanna, if memory is to be trusted,_ he observed deftly

The woman beside him was beautiful, with a mane of auburn hair and blue eyes playing a factor into her beauty. She looked to be in her thirties. _Lady Catelyn Stark, formerly Tully. Lord Stark's wife._

To Lady Stark's flank stood tall a man older than Lyonel, around Joffrey's age. Auburn curls and blue eyes heralded his Tully heritage, and his stern expression spoke of his Stark blood. _Robb Stark, firstborn Lord Stark, and heir of Winterfell._

His eyes gazed over to the girl beside Lady Catelyn, a mirror image of her younger years, it seemed. She too sported auburn hair and blue eyes, eyes that sent coy and shy looks towards Joffrey in response to his own suggestive ones. He saw Robb taking notice of these looks, and did not look to happy. _Sansa Stark. No doubt like all other highborn girls. Though this one seems more naive. No doubt she will be the main candidate for Joffrey's queen. Not while I yet breathe. She will not fall victim to Joffrey's cruel whims._

His gaze froze upon the younger girl beside her, recognizing her as the girl on the wagon. Once again, Stark grey eyes locked with Baratheon dark blue. _Of course. Who bar the daughter of a lord would have access to a guardsman's helmet._ Their eyes met once more, and hers lit up with excitement yet again. If it was seeing him again, or having been recognized and acknowledged by him that caused her excitement, he knew not. _What is your name?_

Beside the girl were two younger boys, neither of which he recognized. Content with his observation, he waited patiently for all to arrive. When his father finally rode inside the courtyard, his dismount was aided by two squires, one he recognized as Lancel Lannister and the other he knew nothing of. His father's belly jiggled as he strode towards the bowing Starks and the northerners behind him. When he arrived in front of his old friend, he gestured them to stand.

"Your grace," Lord Stark greeted formally, now standing on his feet.

In response, he stared sternly and said, "You got fat." A rather awkward silence befell the yard, and all eyes fell unto the two. Lyonel shook his head ever so slightly, already understanding it was no more than his father's antics. His suspicion was proven correct when laughter rumbled from their chests, putting all at ease as the two embraced. The tension melted away like snow before summer sun.

"Nine years! Where have you been all these years, why haven't I seen you?!" he asked with a grin, pulling away.

"I have but been guarding the North for you, your grace. Winterfell is yours."

 _Graceful, my father is not. I begin to fear Lord Stark another Kevan Lannister, a shit-eating lickspittle. I pray it is not so,_ he thought dryly.

The king looked to Lady Stark, "Cat!" She embraced him as a mother would a child. A hairy and obese child. Her maternal nature shined even when placed before a king. _Family, duty, honour._

He continued down the line of Starks, stopping in front of Robb first, "You must be Robb." The heir of Winterfell nodded with an attempted stern look, clasping his father's hand with unrelenting eyes.

Next was Sansa, "My, you're a pretty one." The girl blushed, and Lyonel could sense the glare his mother sent the king.

Now he arrived before the girl with the guardsman helmet. He noticed his father's ever so slight reaction. _It seems she is able to give both kings and princes pause. Just what is your name, girl?_ As if his thoughts left his father's lips, the king asked, "You… what's your name?"

As fearless as the wolf on her house's banners, she blurted out, "Arya," blunt as a mace.

At last was his curiosity satisfied. _Arya. Arya Stark is her name. I shall remember it well._

Robert lingered a fraction of a second too long before he proceeded down the line, and Lyonel learned the names of the last two boys. _Brandon and Rickon Stark._

Snapping him out of his musing was his mother, sauntering towards Lord and Lady Stark, the arrogance radiating off her like a reek. She held out her hand for them to kiss. _It is you who is beneath them, mother. None are so low as you._

He heard his father call out, "Ned, show me to your crypts. I would pay my respects."

His mother's words were poison veiled behind honey, absent affection "We've been riding for months, my love. Surely the dead can wait."

The king paid her no mind and turned to Lord Stark, "Ned." He walked off with Lord Eddard following, though not before the man sent his mother an apologetic look.

 _I almost pity him._

Suddenly he heard the voice of a young girl whisper, " _Look, there he is!_ " It was the girl. No, not the girl; Arya Stark. She whispered to Sansa, discreetly pointing towards Lyonel excitedly.

" _Shut up!_ " she rudely snapped in response, yet Arya seemed to not have heard her, for she would only stared at him in wonder. No, not just wonder. But… admiration as well? Only a few glances and she already confuses him like no other. Lyonel understood looks of indifference, fear, or even disgust. But wonder and admiration?

 _Surely she must have mistaken me for someone of prestige_. There was no other explanation. She could not possibly be admiring a man such as Lyonel Baratheon, the Silent Storm. A name he had not even earned through battle. No. No sooner than when the Wall melts are people ever ecstatic at the sight of Lyonel. _Why?_ was the question echoing in his head, left with silence from the absence of answers.

Suddenly, Arya Stark looked as if remembering something, and turned to her sister again, "Where's the Imp?"

"I said, shut up!"

He might have been disappointed in her, but the way she spoke his name held no disdain. It resembled childlike curiosity than anything. _Simply another curious child looking to sate her interest._

His mother had apparently heard Arya Stark speak, for she turned to her brother, Ser Jaime, "Where's our brother. Go find the little beast."

Lyonel dismounted once he realized his father and Lord Stark were out of sight, and his considerably deep voice was heard by all in the yard as he spoke, "His name is Tyrion. You would do well to remember him as such, mother."

A cold glare was sent his way, one he met with blank expression. She relented once remembering he had long ago stopped fearing her. She left the courtyard without another word to give to the Starks, his siblings following her. She seemed to have forgotten to introduce her children to them, and was now no doubt intending to coddle Joffrey once more, as she always loved to do. A few in the northern crowd were impressed by his resilience towards his mother's icy glare.

As most dispersed in the courtyard, Arya Stark reluctantly as her protests indicated, he once again kept his horse company and even fed it an apple he kept in the saddle bag, feeling it had earned as much for suffering his weight for months. He felt no connection to it, but was obligated nonetheless, he felt. In the corner of his eyes he saw Robb had lingered with another boy, one suspiciously alike Lord Stark, with a long face and grey eyes; even the somber expression was identical. As he stared he suddenly recalled hearing Lord Stark had sired a bastard by the end of his father's rebellion. _Jon Snow._

"Hodor!" a particularly deep and cheerful voice said. He turned to face the source, and was met with the sight of a giant of a man. The hair of his head and beard was brown peppered white, and surrounded an innocent smile. The man before him seemed confused by his blank expression and lack of response. Though he seemed to understand enough to realize Lyonel inquired on his previous statement with an arching eyebrow.

"Hodor!" he repeated cheerfully.

A man, the stable-master Lyonel presumed, emerged from behind his giant silhouette, and Lyonel again was greeted by a nervous face. "Please, f-forgive him, my prince. The poor boy is b-boy is but simple-minded, you see. He has only been able to say 'Hodor'."

 _He calls him a boy. He has the mind of one, I would think._

At Lyonel's silence, the stable-master nervousness only furthered. Even the large man now looked confused, his previous cheer absent. Again, the stable-master attempted to placate him of an anger that wasn't there. "He only wishes to ask if you've need of assistance with your… magnificent steed."

 _If I truly meant him harm, flattery would do naught to deter me._

A long stare from the prince was followed by, "There is nothing to forgive." He held the reins towards… _Hodor_. "And yes, assistance would be most appreciated."

His cheer returned as did his smile, accepting the offered reins from Lyonel's gloved hands. He paused when the prince reached into the purse at his waist to pull out a golden dragon between his finger and thumb. "For your assistance," he spoke curtly. Hodor held out his hand, and his eyes and smile lit up when the palm wrinkled as he pressed the coin into his hand.

"Hodor!"

He bowed his head gratefully and led his horse off to the stables, with the stable-master following, but not before Lyonel warned him, "Do not think to take it for yourself."

He turned around and saw that Robb and Jon spectated him, and were now making their way towards him.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, my prince," Robb greeted. "I hope you find Winterfell to your liking. I am Robb, son of Lord Stark." He held out his hand. Lyonel accepted politely but without words. He noticed when the handshake ended that Jon seemed uncomfortable, even out of place, not sure if what to do or if he should remain.

"This is my… half-brother. Jon."

He was spared the decision to leave or not when Lyonel held out his hand to the bastard. He accepted with surprise, and only thanks to encouragement from his sibling, "A pleasure, my prince." His words were curt and his voice quiet.

He looked at them both, "No formalities." He hated formalities during conversations absent a court. Pretentious and unnecessary. Unless the one he spoke to proved boring or unpleasant. Though he scarce believed he would be conversing with such persons.

The statement had taken them both aback slightly, and they glanced at each other before Robb queried further, "Would you prefer us to call you Lyonel?"

He nodded wordlessly.

"Very well, Lyonel. Would you like a tour of Winterfell?"

He nodded with a gesture for them to show the way. He did not miss the glint of pride in Robb's eyes as he passed Lyonel to present him the castle that was his home. First they showed him the training yard, where a stout man with white whiskers instructed his men with clear diligence. "That man there is Ser Rodrik Cassel. There is scant of men more loyal than him, and none as courageous. He has the honour of a true knight, and the wisdom of one."

Prudently, Robb thought it fitting to show him Mikken's armoury. No doubt he heard tales of Lyonel's skill with a forge and anvil. They found themselves in front of a stand where examples of his latest items were on display. His hands gripped the hilt of a newly-forged sword, eyes keenly scanning the sharpened blade.

Mikken, a man whose mouth was shrouded by a great bushy white beard, approached from behind the stand, soot and sweat on his forehead and strong arms. "Is the prince pleased with my work?"

Lyonel's eyes flicked up from the blade to Mikken, and stared before nodding. It could hold nary a candle to Lyonel's work, much less Tobho Mott's, yet it was impressive nonetheless. Good, hardy steel, and fairly well-balanced. It was better than most castle smiths.

After being shown the most eventful places, they finally passed the kennel. Suddenly, two great wolves emerged when Robb and Jon paused and the former whistled. One sported a smoky grey fur, the other snow white with eyes like freshly spilt blood. "Don't be startled, Lyonel. They will not harm you." Lyonel merely turned with calm, and met the beasts' eyes. All of a sudden, the grey wolf sprinted to Lyonel and almost jumped him, instead pawing gently at his chest.

Robb looked abashed and shocked, swiftly ordering the wolf off of him, "Grey Wind, no! Off!"

"Leave him," said Lyonel suddenly, surprising the two. He yet had a blank face, yet his hand began petting and scratching Grey Wind's fur as the wolf panted.

Without a sound, the albino wolf approached from behind, and when Lyonel finally took notice he removed Grey Wind's paws from him softly. He bent a knee to face the white wolf as he took off his gloves absentmindedly, unknowingly revealing the scars of his hunt upon his palms. His open hand reached out to pet the albino wolf. Still it made no noise. Quiet as a ghost. Yet he could tell it appreciated his attention. Their eyes locked intensely.

"Ghost," said Jon suddenly. Lyonel's head shifted quickly to meet his gaze. His shyness was as visible as his inexperience at being a host, "His name is Ghost."

He looked back into the wolf's blood red eyes, his eyes movement not stopping for a second, "Fitting."

He missed their smiles, for his eyes were upon Ghost's features. After a lengthy stare, his hand slowly came to a pause, and finally they saw an expression on his face. His brows furrowed into a frown, and he looked towards them. "Direwolves?"

Their own eyes widened in surprise, Robb's showing in his voice, "You can tell?"

"Their snouts." It was more pronounced than a normal wolf in Westeros' wilderness, and their behaviour was more fitting of a young. He had read Maester Raymun's book on the wilderness of beyond-the-Wall and made mental notes of their differences.

He stood straight, his hand caressing Ghost's head as he pulled his arm back to his side slowly. Grey Wind licked his hand a few times before both of them returned to the kennel. He moved to wipe his hand off against the arm of his tunic when Robb caught sight of the scar in his palm. "It's true, then?"

He looked towards Robb inquisitively.

"The scars on your hand. Are they from the antlers you broke off and killed the stag with?" Lyonel saw that Jon knew not if he should be just as curious or mortified by the rather personal questions. Robb only soon realized the brashness of his question, and blushed in embarrassment, "Forgive me, my prince. I was out of line."

Suddenly, Lyonel's other palm was but inches from Robb's face, startling him slightly and causing him to step back. When he realized the prince was showing him his scars, he stared with fascination, and soon, so did Jon. "No formalities," he repeated once they were finished. They nodded simply. He pulled his gloves back on and looked towards the two brothers, "You both have my gratitude for the tour. Your hospitality is most appreciated. I managed not to fall asleep this time."

They both smiled proudly, knowing the strength of Winterfell would impress all men who laid eyes upon it, and Robb nodded, "Of course, Lyonel. If you ever find yourself in need of anything else, you need only ask."

Jon had settled for his small smile, and proved as wordless as Lyonel. Despite the prince's chronic silence, he was a far from the ruthless and brutal monster they had heard of so much. The truth was quite the opposite. He still managed to be likeable despite the absence of words with but sparse gestures. Perhaps they should not have listened to petty rumours.

"I have but one request." The seriousness was not lost on either of the brothers.

"Of course, name it."

"The king spoke to me of his wish to join the house of Baratheon and Stark. I believe he plans to do so by marrying Joffrey and your eldest sister. No matter what, do not allow this to happen. Warn your father, for mine will not. He is blind to Joffrey's true nature. He may marry anyone else to any of your siblings, but _not_ Joffrey. For whomever it will be, she will suffer by his hand."

The unexpected nature of what he spoke of truly shocked them, and Robb had so many questions swirling in his head like a gale, "What… The crown prince? I don't understa-"

"Nor need you. If you must know, tell Lord Stark to meet me. I shall tell him all there is to know. But no matter what, bring this matter to none but him. And do not let anyone know I spoke of this to you. Do I have your words?"

It took them a while for the shock to dissipate, but when it did, they managed a nod. Even Jon spoke, "We swear to you."

No more words passed Lyonel's lips, only a heads inclination before he turned to walk away, leaving behind two befuddled brothers, and even further befuddled direwolves, tilting their heads in confusion at their masters' shocked expressions.

* * *

 **A/N: Basically, this idea started rather spontaenously and out of nowhere. I loved Hotline Miami and found out it was inspired in some degree by the movie Drive. And so, I wanted to create a sociopathic character. This was how Lyonel was born. This story has gone further than I could ever have imagined and I hope you all loved this and will tag along for the ride.**

 **I'll start here by saying that if it seems like Lyonel is perfect and a Gary Stu, I assure you he will be fleshed out in the later chapters. He will have his flaws like any other character and will run across problems he cannot singlehandedly solve.**


	2. The Feast and The Announcement

Lyonel's eyes scanned the feast as he watched as people laughed at each other's jokes, servants moved hastily around the maze of people to deliver beverages for the guests to wash down the food. His father and mother sat at the main table on the top platform along with Eddard and Catelyn Stark. His mother and Lady Catelyn conversed politely. The king laughed loudly while Lord Eddard just chuckled along.

Next to Lyonel sat Arya Stark, the only girl in the entire world who was actually eager to meet him. Her eagerness was evident as she would occasionally glance at him and fidget in her seat, all while Lyonel pretended not to notice. He shifted his eyes to the other end of the long table they were sitting at where Robb Stark conversed and laughed along with other boys around his age whom Lyonel did not recognize. He turned his head to look where his brother Joffrey was seated at. Lyonel stared at his brother with emotionless eyes, as he sent looks towards Sansa Stark. Lyonel hoped that Robb warned his father, and that the wolf of Winterfell had heeded his warning. Behind Lyonel, in the opposite end of the room, sat Jon along with the soldiers.

Lyonel noticed that Arya, once again, shifted in her seat. He decided to be merciful and sate her curiosity. "Ask," He said simply.

Arya was surprised at how he was able to read her, not knowing how obvious she was. "Is it true that… you killed a murderer in Fleas Bottom? M-my prince." Her stammering showed her inexperience and lack of skill at being a hostess. Lyonel only nodded in response. She asked another question soon after, parroting her brother's words "Is it true that you kill a stag with its own antlers?"

He placed the back of his hand on the table in front of her before opening the palm of his hand, revealing the scars before parroting his answer to the same question, "No formalities." He put his hand on front of him again.

"Should I call you Lyonel?" He nodded wordlessly in response, not looking at her. Arya hesitated before she decided to ask, "Did it hurt?"

Lyonel made his decision to be decent enough to answer her verbally, "In abundance. But I ignored the pain."

Arya had a look of childlike awe in her eyes, "Are you truly the best marksman in the entire world?"

He looked at her, "The entire world? No, that would be my master."

Silence fell between the two. It did not take long before Arya broke it, "You're not what I expected."

He raised his eyebrow at her before speaking, "What did you expect?"

Arya noticed the mistake in her words, and mended it with haste, "I don't mean it in a bad way, my- Lyonel. It's just… I thought you would be more… silent. Robb told me you earned your name, but you talk more to me than you talked to either of my brothers. Why?"

Lyonel stared in front of him for several seconds before answering, "You are not like other girls." He looked at her before continuing, "Your eyes do not hold the common look of fear or nervousness when you see me. But never had I expected a girl to be _eager_ to meet me. And you are far more interesting than most highborn girls I've met. Most people think I am silent because I try to be intimidating, or because I only speak when necessary. While the latter reason is partly true, the main reason is I find most people either despicable, or simply boring."

Arya nodded slowly in understanding as she slowly turned to look at her plate. "Most people look at my brother with hatred in their eyes. As if he murdered their daughters or something, even when he is being polite." She quickly turned her head to look at Lyonel, "Jon, I mean." Lyonel came to the realization that they had more in common than he expected. They both harboured great love for a close family member, a family member who was constantly ridiculed and insulted behind their backs simply for being born. It seems both of them had been taught not to judge people before finding out who they truly are. Arya continued, "And you're right about me not being like other girls. Most girls want to be the perfect lady," she said 'lady' with mockery in her voice. "Just like Sansa. They all want to sew perfectly and swoon over tales of knights in shining armour. But I like swordplay, archery and horse riding." Her expression turned sad as she looked back at the table again, "But my mother never lets me do any of that. She wants me to be Sansa instead of Arya."

Lyonel stared at her with his ever lingering expressionless face, "Do you know how to wield a blade?"

Arya's sad expression disappears as she quickly looks up at him, "Stick 'em with the pointy end."

The majority of the room was surprised when they heard the second born prince laugh loudly. The king stared at Lyonel in surprise and shock, as did Robb at the other end of the table. Robb couldn't help the smile on his face when he realized his sister was the one who made the Silent Storm laugh. Lyonel ignored them all as he nodded and spoke with an amused tone, "Indeed." Arya smiled at him as the room went about their business when Lyonel calmed down.

Lyonel Baratheon decided from that moment on, he liked Arya Stark. Which was the cause that led him to suggest his proposal, "What if I train you in all of those things, hm? Swordplay, archery and horse riding."

Arya's eyes widened in surprise and excitement, "You would do that for me?" When Lyonel nodded as her excitement increased, until she suddenly remembered, "But my mother would never allow me to."

He did not seem worried about the problem as he calmly stated the remedy to it, "She cannot defy the command of a prince."

Arya grinned happily at him, "Thank you, m- Lyonel." He only nodded in response. They both decided to finish what was on their plate as they both felt their bellies empty. After they had both finished the meal, Arya asked the question that lingered in her head, "Have you met many high born girls?"

He nodded with his face vacant any expressions, "My parents aimed to find me a fitting wife, simply to further their own positions, with no regards for my own feelings or desires." His expression seemed slightly amused as he looked at Arya, "I have met so many, I wouldn't have been able to tell them apart if it weren't for their different looks. They're all as boring as you say your sister is."

She giggled at the last part before asking, "Haven't you met any other ladies who were different?"

He lifted his right eyebrow, "Besides you? Only one, it wasn't in a good way."

She had a look of childlike curiosity, "Who do you mean?"

"Margaery Tyrell. She is different, no doubt. Yet the only difference is her words are more false than most girls, her mind sharper, yet stupid enough to believe I would not notice. She is as manipulative as her grandmother, who no doubt taught her the art of manipulation." He turned to look at her with a small smirk embellishing his face, "Another reason to my liking of you. Unlike Margaery, you are different in a good way."

Arya felt her heart warm, "Thank you." The smile faded from her face as she looked down, "I don't want to get married."

Lyonel stared at her before inquiring, "Why?"

"Love is stupid and is for other highborn girls. Besides, if I ever marry a highborn, they would take away my freedom and never let me do what I want. They would put me in a castle and have me waiting for them whenever they left a room."

He stared at her. _'She is smart, yet she is foolish. She knows her freedom would be ripped from her if she married, yet…'_ Lyonel stared at the plate in front of him, "I can tell you've never been in love."

Arya looked at him, "How?"

He stared into her grey, misty eyes, "You believe love to be foolish."

Her eyes lingered on his in surprise before she queried his answer, "Have you ever been in love?"

Lyonel shook his head, still staring at her eyes, "I have never been _in_ love. But I do love my siblings. Do you love your brother Jon?" Arya nodded. "Then imagine that feeling of love, but far stronger, and far more intimate." Arya had a look of realization in her eyes as she stared into Lyonel's. "There is a difference between loving someone, and to be in love with them. I pray to the old gods that you will one day know the feeling, Arya Stark."

Arya was silent as she took in his words. She suddenly looked surprised, "So it's true. You worship the old gods."

Lyonel nodded, "I do." He truthfully wouldn't call it worship. He was more of a believer than anything.

"Why? Why don't you believe in the Seven like the rest?"

He hesitated, but didn't show it, as he contemplated telling her. He finally came to a decision, "They're real."

She stared with widening eyes before eagerly asking, "How do you know?"

Sighing silently to himself, he glanced around swiftly with his eyes, fast enough for her not to notice, before turning to continue, "They whisper to me, whenever I visit the Godswood in King's Landing. At first, I thought myself mad. But I soon realized it was the old gods, whispering my name, clamouring me to come to the realization that they were speaking to me. I don't know if they truly are deities or simply supernatural entities posing as such, but… whatever they are… they're real."

Arya stared at him in shock. She would have laughed and thought it nothing more than a jape, but this was Lyonel Baratheon. And the seriousness in his tone only made it more convincing. Lyonel decided to spare the poor girl the awkwardness of not knowing what to say by looking straight ahead. It was only a few minutes later when Lyonel asked her about her relation with the rest of her family members. She told him of her loving relation with her honourable father, her stern yet kind mother, and her relation with Robb, Bran and Rickon. She spoke of her constant bickering with her sister. In the end, she spoke of her most beloved brother, Jon Snow. She spoke of how understanding and kind he was. She couldn't help but be curious about Lyonel's family, "Do you love your family?"

Lyonel seemed to freeze at the question. Arya apologized, not wanting to alienate her new friend. "There is nothing to apologize for." Lyonel turned to look at her with an almost regretful look in his eyes, "I envy you and your family, Arya. You are all a single pack of wolves, caring and protecting each other. The only ones in my family I love are my younger siblings, and my uncles, Tyrion and Stannis. You may have occasional fights with your sister, but in the end, when Sansa has to choose, she will always choose you over anyone else, just as she would any other in your family. Joffrey would not." He looked forward again.

"You're not close with your brother?"

Lyonel looked thoughtful before turning to look at her, "Tell me this. What happens when you use flint to ignite a casket of wildfire?"

Arya looked confused at the question, not knowing if she was being tricked, "It goes up in flames?"

He nodded, "Exactly. A giant ball of fire is ignited, an explosion. Joffrey is the wildfire, and I am the flint that causes the sparks. The friction is his envy of me."

"He's jealous of you?"

"He is. He's a cruel, vain and envious monster. I knew the king would announce a betrothal between Joffrey and your sister. I warned Robb to tell your father. I can only hope he will heed my words."

Shock crossed her features, "Why? What did he do?" Her question was met by dead silence from Lyonel. When Arya thought she would receive no answer, he did just that, yet rather cryptically.

"Nothing he will ever do again." He turned to look at her before speaking in a final tone, "I made sure of it."

Arya could only nod in response as silence fell between the two, this time not broken by either of them. Lyonel decided to scan the room quickly until his eyes landed where the soldiers sat. He calmly looked back at Arya, "Where is Jon?"

She looked around the hall as well before she shrugged, "Maybe he went outside."

Lyonel stared at the soldiers' seats before he stood up, "Wait here."

He weaved his way through the crowd of guests and servants until he made his way outside. Lyonel searched the area diligently as he tried to spot Jon. He spotted Jon conversing with his uncle Tyrion. Lyonel felt joy at seeing his uncle again.

"I wish you good luck in the Night's Watch," Tyrion said with a drunken voice before turning around and walking away. He spotted Lyonel as the corners of his mouth curved into a smile, "Nephew, what a pleasant surprise to see you here."

"Uncle, what a pleasant surprise to see you outside of a brothel," Lyonel jested, causing Tyrion to laugh before he kneeled down and hugged his uncle tightly. Jon looked surprised at seeing Lyonel's open display of affection. Lyonel stood up before motioning towards Jon with his eyes, signalling for privacy.

Tyrion smirked in understanding, "I shall see you inside, nephew." Lyonel nodded as Tyrion walked past him awkwardly, his stubby legs carrying him to the great hall. When they had been left alone, Lyonel stared at Jon, "Night's Watch?"

He nodded in response, "There is no greater and more honourable position for a bastard."

 _'Hogwash,'_ Lyonel thought with disappointment. Disappointment at Lord Stark for not taking greater care of Jon. Lyonel was no fool, for he knew why Jon wanted to truly go there. Arya only confirmed his initial suspicion. Jon was hated by most bigots and fools at Winterfell, simply for bearing the social stigma of bastardy on his last name. Catelyn Stark was undoubtedly the worst towards Jon. Lyonel soon felt anger. Jon was shunned by a society of narrow-minded bigots, the same narrow-minded bigots who ridiculed and mocked his uncle Tyrion. And he would be damned if he let them have even the slightest victory by having this bastard sent to a cold wasteland in the far north.

And he knew exactly how to convince him, "How about a position as a prince's sworn shield?"

Jon's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden offer presented to him. Jon stammered in confusion, "What..? I mean- wh…" Jon sighed at his stammering. What a great way to make a fool of himself. "I appreciate the offer but… why?"

What Lyonel said next shocked him, and even though his male pride would most likely not allow him to admit it, he was touched. "You deserve better. Your sister Arya told me about you. You have a moral compass that would rival that of your father. I know how understanding and open minded you are, especially to Arya. Your skill with a blade is unmatched by any in Winterfell, the only exception being Ser Rodrik."

Jon was at a loss for words. At first, he had expected the prince to be an arrogant twit towards him like every other highborn was. If not that, he thought Lyonel would be completely dismissive of him, not acknowledging his existence. It was a pleasant surprise when Lyonel had started to treat Jon as an equal to any other, something he had not expected. Not to mention being praised for his honour and skill. It made Jon realize something. He was already willing to dedicate his life to Lyonel's. He wanted to protect and preserve this exceptionally open minded person's life by swearing an oath to become his sworn shield. But this was all still too overwhelming for him.

"I appreciate the offer, m- Lyonel. Your words mean much to me. But I need some time to think on it, if it pleases you."

Lyonel nodded, his expression not changing, "Take your time." He turned around and walked away before suddenly stopping. Wondering why he wasn't being followed, he turned around to face Jon. "Come," he urged calmly.

"Lady Stark does not wish to offend your family with my presence," Jon said, the faintest hint of resentment in his voice.

"She insults me with her bigotry." Jon's eyes widened at his insult towards Lady Stark. He hoped no one had heard it. "Come," he repeated with a final tone, his nonchalant attitude towards the insult he spoke about Lady Stark surprised Jon. When Lyonel turned around once again and walked away, the bastard followed him without argument.

When they arrived at the feast once again, Lady Catelyn glared at him from her seat, which did not go unnoticed by Lyonel. Jon felt a hand on his shoulder and saw that the hand belonged to the prince who nodded towards in in reassurance. Lyonel caught Catelyn's attention and sent her a glare of his own, demanding she leave Jon alone. After a few seconds, Catelyn finally looked away with a grimace. Lyonel led Jon to his table before sitting him down to the other side of Arya. She greeted her half-brother with a smile before she returned to prepare catapulting food at her sister. Lyonel put his hand on her shoulder, prompting her to look at him, "You don't want to go to bed early, do you?"

Arya stared before she shook her head in response, realizing the consequences that might happen. Lyonel turned to look at Sansa who, along with several other girls including Jeyne Poole, was listening to a story being told by Joffrey. Joffrey boasted of his Baratheon hunt and how he apparently killed a charging stag with a small knife. The girls simply smiled and shook their heads as they listened intently. Lyonel found himself very confused at how they could believe Joffrey's story like mindless dogs, no matter how ridiculous and far-fetched it was. Were they really that gullible? It can't be wilful ignorance. Who would ever want to choose ignorance?

Lyonel had half a mind to go over there and tell them how it truly went, just to wound and humiliate Joffrey and his pride. But he was not jealous. He hated being the centre of attention. He preferred to stay in the shadows, just as he always had. The shadows comforted him. It was his shroud.

He was broken out of his musing by Arya's voice, "-ike Winterfell?" He turned his head to look at her before raising his eyebrow, asking her wordlessly to repeat the question. "How do you like Winterfell?"

He looked forward and sighed quietly to himself as he thought on the question, comparing it to how it was in King's Landing. Lyonel turned to look at her again, "The smell isn't nearly as bad here in Winterfell."

Arya giggled as Jon laughed at the answer. Lyonel continued, "It's… Spartan compared to King's Landing. But I admire it for its cold beauty and strength. It's not nearly as glorified as King's Landing either."

"Ha! I knew Winterfell was the best," Arya exclaimed. Lyonel had an amused smirk on his face as he looked at Jon, who had an equally amused smile.

Jon shook his head, the smile still on his face, "She's clearly not being humble about it."

"Clearly," Lyonel agreed with a dry voice, hiding his small amusement.

They continued to converse for several hours. Lyonel didn't speak nearly as much as the other two but when he did, he decided to be polite enough to answer verbally every time. Despite how little he spoke, the half-siblings somehow managed to feel entertained throughout the entire conversation. When the feast ended, the three stepped outside and spotted a drunken Tyrion. Lyonel shouted after him, "And where are you going?!"

Tyrion didn't look back, nor did he stop as he said, "I'm going to sleep!"

Lyonel had a confused expression, "Wha…" He turned to look at Jon, who stood beside him, "In the kennel?"

Jon only shrugged before bidding Lyonel a good night and leading his sister to her bedroom. Lyonel simply stared at where Tyrion had walked in confusion, his mind trying to make sense before giving up. He made his way to his own room before he fell asleep on the bed.

* * *

 **Next Morning**

Lyonel washed his face with the pure icy water from his bowl; his eyes stinging faintly as the cold water enveloped them and washed away the rheum. He shook the water from his hands before walking over to his window and opening it, looking out at Winterfell. The cold breeze felt exceptionally chilly thanks to the water on his face. The window only exposed his torso, as it thankfully stopped at his waist. He would rather not have his manhood exposed for everyone to see. Far away, his eyes spotted Robb Stark as he was followed by Stark soldiers and Theon Greyjoy like loyal dogs to a master. He noticed he was making his way to the training yard. As Lyonel looked down, he spotted Lord Stark who looked as if he was waiting for someone. Lyonel remembered what he told Robb when warning him about Joffrey, _"Warn your father. Tell him to come to me for further inquiry on the matter."_

He looked down and noticed his body was bare and decided to close the window before someone noticed him in this inappropriate state. He put on a leather tunic and pants before he made his way outside now that he was decent. As soon as he opened the door to walk outside, he spotted Lord Stark who waved him over.

When Lyonel did, the Lord of Winterfell greeted him, "Good morning, my prince. I trust you had a good sleep?" He nodded without words in response. "I need to speak with you. You told my son, Robb, that I must stop my daughter from marrying Prince Joffrey. Why?"

"Why? Well, where should I start? My brother is a cruel shit. He is vain and deceitful, he does not love your daughter, and he is only seducing her, most likely by the order of my mother. He once gutted Tommen's pregnant cat to try and impress our father. I almost crippled him, and I would have if Myrcella hadn't begged me to stop. Instead, I settled for stabbing his hand with a crude knife and pouring alcohol into the wound. My father let me go with a slap on the wrist and even silently praised my actions, but my mother wasn't nearly as reasonable. She beat me, over and over again. Uncle Jaime had to grab her hands and force her out of the room."

With every word that Lyonel spoke, the more shocked Eddard's expression turned. In the end, he could only stare speechlessly. Lyonel noticed the look of suspicion he sent Lyonel, "I know why you stare that way. You're thinking: "Is he any different? Is he just as bad as his brother and is trying to find a way to get revenge? Or maybe he's trying to get Sansa for himself? I suppose you're going to have to wait and find out."

Eddard looked even more surprised at how the prince was able to read him, "I…"

He held his hand up to stop him from continuing, "Don't say anything. You would be a fool to not have such suspicion towards me. Now, if there is nothing else." he turned around, not waiting to hear if Eddard had anything else to say, and made his way to the training yard.

Along the way, he could not help but feel as if something was watching him. Lyonel felt all breath leave his lungs as he was suddenly knocked to the ground by a silver blur. He slid across the ground, the back of his tunic ruined by the dirt. His hand moved like a blur towards the hidden knife in his belt. His face was suddenly drenched in saliva as a rough tongue licked him. Lyonel slowly moved his hand away from the knife as he realized that a direwolf was on top of him, absent harmful intent. He suddenly heard a young voice, "No! Get off of him, now!"

The direwolf moved back and off Lyonel, allowing him to finally stand up while wiping the warm and disgusting spit off of his face. The direwolf moved to a young boy's side. Lyonel recognized the young boy as Bran Stark. The young lad had a look of fear and nervousness. He was clearly intimidated by Lyonel, "I- I'm so sorry, my prince! I-I tried to stop him, I truly did! He didn't mean any harm!"

Lyonel stared at him before suddenly speaking, "Do not fret." Bran's eyes widened in surprise and relief. Lyonel knelt down before he scratched the direwolf behind the ear, making it pant happily as its tongue wagged up and down, "Name?" Lyonel said simply.

Bran looked confused, "What?"

He looked up at him before nodding towards the direwolf, "Name?"

Bran realized what the prince meant, "Oh… I don't have a name for him yet."

He looked back at the direwolf and stared into its eyes. Its fur was silver, and its eyes were yellow, almost golden. Like the summer sun. "Summer," he said.

Bran had a look of confusion, "I don't understand."

"The color of his eyes reminds me of summer," Lyonel said. He smiled when he noticed Lyonel referred to the direwolf as someone would a person, saying 'his' instead of 'its'.

"Summer," Bran repeated. The name felt good. A beautiful name for a beautiful creature, he thought. He decided to name his direwolf 'Summer'. "I like it."

Lyonel surprised him when he suddenly started to play around with Summer, hugging him while scratching his back. Bran laughed as Lyonel played around with Summer. The prince surprised Bran. He was nothing like the rumours said. He was silent, but he wasn't a murdering monster at all. When Lyonel finally stopped playing with Summer, he stood up and looked at Bran, "You want to be in the Kingsguard." It was a statement.

Bran's eyes widened in surprise, "How did you know?"

He answered with a single name, "Arya."

"Oh." He suddenly remembered something, "Can you train me along with Arya?"

 _'So Arya told him,'_ Lyonel observed. He nodded, and Bran grinned in excitement before they both made their way to the training yard.

* * *

 **Later**

Lyonel watched as his baby brother fought Bran with a wooden sword. They were both covered in padding, by order of Ser Rodrik Cassel. Ser Rodrik Cassel was a strong man with white hair and sideburns. Tommen was winning thanks to Lyonel's training, although not by much. It wasn't as if Tommen was beating Bran to the ground either as both of them were barely able to hit each other, or move for that matter as the heavy padding proved to be far from flexible. The only thing that indicated that Tommen was winning was the fact that he gave more pats than he received. The Lannister spectators shouted our encouragements to Tommen, while the northerners shouted out encouragements to Bran. But not Lyonel. The prince simply observed in silence with a serious expression on his face.

After a few more minutes, Tommen finally managed to knock Bran on his backside as the Lannisters cheered loudly while the northerners groaned. Tommen jumped up in joy and celebration of his victory. Lyonel stood up before walking towards him. Lyonel ruffled his baby brother's hair with a smile adorning his face.

"Did I do well?"

Lyonel nodded, "You fought as if you were Ser Barristan himself. Without the wrinkles, of course." Tommen giggled. "It won't be long before you'll be the second coming of Arthur Dayne."

Tommen beamed at the compliment from his role model. "Do you think I can become 'The Sword of The Morning'?" He shook his head, "I fear not. That title is reserved for a Dayne. But with the way you're fighting you'll be creating a greater title of your own." The young boy grinned at his older brother. Lyonel turned around and watched as Bran was helped up by Robb.

"You still fought well, Bran," Robb said, trying to comfort him.

Bran only nodded with a small smile but Lyonel could see the disappointment in his eyes. "With a bit more training and you'll be sure to join the Kingsguard soon," Lyonel said loudly enough for Bran to hear. Bran felt his spirit restored as he thanked Lyonel. Robb also thanked him with a wordless nod, and was kind enough to guide Prince Tommen to the spectators along with Bran.

Ser Rodrik called out, "Prince Joffrey, Lord Robb. Will you have another round?"

Robb grinned eagerly, "Aye!"

"This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik," Joffrey said with an uninterested expression on his face.

A sudden bark of laughter was heard in the background before Theon Greyjoy's voice was heard, "You are children!"

"Robb may be a child, but I am not. I tire of swatting Starks with a play sword."

Robb's grin never left his face, "You received more swats than you gave. Are you afraid, Joff?"

He looked at him with a mock scared expression, "Oh terrified! You're so much older than me!" Some of the Lannister guards laughed.

Ser Rodrik tugged thoughtfully at his beard, "What are you suggesting?"

"Live steel."

Robb's grin grew, "Done. You'll be sorry."

The master-at-arms of Winterfell stopped him by putting his hand on Robb's shoulder, "Live steel is too dangerous. I'll permit you to use tourney blades."

Joffrey said nothing, but instead Sandor Clegane stepped forward in front of the prince, "This is your prince. Who are you to tell him if he may use live steel or not, _ser_." His voice mocked the title.

"Master-at-arms in Winterfell, Clegane. And you would do well not to forget it."

Sandor laughed insultingly, "Are you training women here?"

Ser Rodrik spoke with a sharp voice, "I'm training _knights_. They will have steel when they are ready, not before."

Sandor turned to look at Robb, "How old are you, boy?"

"Seventeen."

"I killed my first man at twelve. You can be sure it was not with a blunt blade."

Lyonel had enough, "You speak as if it is a fact to be proud of."

Sandor turned to look at Lyonel, "Forgive me, my prince. I forget you were even here." A few muffled laughs were heard coming from the Lannisters. "But oh, who am I to boast. You killed your first at thirteen. And unlike us lesser mortals, you did it with your bare hands. Bashed the man's face against the ground until the skull was visible. Tell me, did you like it?" Lyonel only stared at him, having already heard Sandor speaking of how men loves killing, although never towards him. "I know you did. Tell me, have you ever felt the need to kill after?"

The Lannisters continued to laugh to themselves. "No, but I'm starting to," Lyonel threatened with a dead voice, and the soldiers behind Joffrey suddenly stilled their tongues in nervousness.

Ser Rodrik put his hand on Lyonel's shoulder, "My prince-" The prince looked at his hand before looking up at Ser Rodrik himself. He quickly removed it, "Forgive me."

Joffrey's voice was heard behind Sandor, "Do you think you can take on my dog?"

Lyonel said nothing as he unsheathes his blade slowly. He surprised everyone when he decided to throw it to the side and in the dirt. Sandor laughed loudly, "The princeling thinks he can take me without a blade!" Some of the Lannisters laughed again, but most stayed silent this time.

Lyonel silenced them all when he said, "Was that your attempt to try and anger me? How about we fight with blades instead of words, dog."

Sandor grinned before unsheathing his sword, "Gladly!"

Ser Rodrik tried to protest but was stopped by Lyonel's calm, yet robust voice, "Don't interrupt."

Sandor watched as he simply stood there, not even going to a brawling position. He swung his steel at Lyonel's head. The prince simply leaned his head back, dodging it with ease. The tall man aimed to strike Lyonel in the gut, but the strike was dodged as well. Sandor tried to stab Lyonel with the sword next. He simply sidestepped the thrust before grabbing Sandor's hand and disarming him, ripping the sword from his grip. Lyonel quickly followed up with a powerful kick that sent Sandor falling backwards. Sandor lifted his head, expecting to see the tip of his own sword pointed at his face, but saw only Lyonel staring at him before throwing that blade away as well.

Sandor stood up before charging his opponent. Lyonel surprised everyone when he bent forward, grabbed Sandor's legs and lifted them up, throwing Sandor behind him with the help of his momentum. He suddenly rolled backwards and instantly straddled Sandor in one smooth and graceful move. The Hound was still reeling when Lyonel grabbed onto his neck before lifting his own head up before bringing it down on Sandor's face.

The Hound was dazed as blood flowed like a red waterfall from his nose. Lyonel head-butted him again, the brutal sound of his forehead smacking hard against Sandor's face rang throughout the training yard as everyone watched on in shock. Sandor was semi-unconscious as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Lyonel stared up straight at the sky before once again, bringing down his forehead. The final one was so brutal, even Joffrey was shocked unlike other times where he would enjoy the blood. Lyonel panted through his nose heavily as only silence was apparent in the yard.

He slowly, and menacingly, looked up at Joffrey who looked ready to wet his breeches. He slowly stood up, eyes cold and blood running down his face, as he said, "Now. Run back to mother and cry, like you always do when defeated." Some of the Stark soldiers couldn't help but laugh, even after the brutality they just saw, including Robb. "GO!" Lyonel roared loudly.

Joffrey whimpered, prompting the Starks to laugh even harder, as he stumbled to try and run away. Some of the Lannister barely dared to move around Lyonel as they tried to drag the Hound's unconscious body from the yard.

Lyonel stared after them until they finally left. He turned around and walked back to his bench, but not before Robb thanked him for defending his honour. Lyonel only nodded in response before walking over to his bench and sitting down. One of the Stark soldiers was kind enough to give him a piece of cloth to clean his face with. Bran had already left along with Robb, having forgotten to train with Lyonel. Lyonel looked up to see Jon and Arya staring down at him with surprised expressions. They both sat on a sill as they spectated the whole event. He stared at them before motioning for them to come down. He waited patiently for them to arrive, which they did after a while. Lyonel immediately turned to Jon, "Have you made your decision?"

Jon looked at Arya, who encouraged him with a smile and a nod, before looking back at Lyonel, "I accept. I will pledge my life to you and yours. Till my death, or till you see fit to release me from my oath."

Lyonel nodded wordlessly before looking at Arya, "I imagine you did some persuasion?"

Arya grinned as she nodded, "Are we still going to train?"

"I made a promise, did I not?" Lyonel asked rhetorically. She grinned even more in excitement. Both the prince and her brother proceeded to train her for the next two hours. They taught her the proper stance, footwork and the most basic sword techniques. She proved eager, and a great student as she quickly learned and remembered everything she was told.

Lyonel had planned to train her in archery when they were interrupted by a guard approaching them, "My prince. His grace and Lord Stark demand your presence."

He stared at the soldier before turning to Arya, "Enough training for today." Arya nodded and thanked him before she and Jon left.

He was escorted by the Lannister guard to his father. When Lyonel entered, he saw his father sitting in a large chair as Lord Stark stood next to him. The king stared at Lyonel, "I heard you have been spreading rumours about your brother. Explain!"

The prince stared at him calmly, "I have been spreading the truth, not lies. You know this."

The king let out a sigh, "Joffrey hasn't grown up to be the man I wanted him to be. But I still believe there is hope."

"That is why you are a fool," Lyonel said fearlessly.

Robert glared at him, "Watch your tongue, boy. You may be my son, but I will not hesitate to discipline you."

Lyonel stared at him in disbelief, his face still firm. "Discipline? Who are you to speak of discipline? You know nothing of what you speak. Joffrey's cruelty is your fault. He loves and admires you, yet you ignored him. He wants your recognition yet you ignored him and it ended with Tommen's cat gutted simply to try and impress you. Every time my younger siblings have been tormented, it has been because of your negligence. Every time Tommen and Myrcella suffered, it has been because you were too busy, drinking wine and fucking whores."

"You ignored all of my siblings. You let Joffrey go unpunished with a slap on the wrist. You threaten to discipline me, when I've been trying to defend my siblings, when I _am_ trying defending Lord Stark's daughters! And yet you dare sit there and speak of discipline, when you have made no effort raise Joffrey, or Myrcella and Tommen! The gall on you!"

"Silence!" Robert roared as he rose from his seat and raised his hand with an open palm.

He calmly looked at his father, his dead voice infuriating Robert even more, "Hit me, then. Prove me right."

Lord Stark quickly placated the king's anger, before Robert sat down. He turned to look at the prince, "That isn't the main reason we summoned you. We have decided to revoke the betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa."

"You wouldn't have summoned me if you didn't plan to marry me off," Lyonel said in a matter-of-factly tone.

Lord Stark nodded, "Aye, you're a smart lad. We've decided to marry you and my second born daughter, Arya, in a few years' time."

His expression didn't change as he stared silently at Lord Stark for a few seconds, "She does not wish for marriage."

Eddard nodded, "Aye, she's afraid that her freedom will be taken away from her. That someone will put her in a castle where she'll live out the rest of her days. Tell me, would you do such a thing?" Lyonel shook his head. "Exactly. You are a second born prince. You can give her more freedom than anyone else ever could."

The king spoke next, "I know she'll make you happy. I haven't heard you laugh since you were ten, and this girl managed to do it in a few minutes talking to you."

Lyonel only shook his head, "What about Arya's happiness?"

Eddard smiled, "Listen to yourself. You don't even care about your own happiness, you immediately think about hers. I have no doubt in my mind that you will bring her nothing but happiness. Besides… she always admired you."

Lyonel stared at him in shock, his eyes wide, "What?"

"Why do you think she looked so excited to see you? I know you noticed her excitement. She always thought of The Silent Storm as a hero, and not as a brutal and ruthless murderer as many others would. A hero who save men, women and children from murderers and rapers. A man who roams the night, a guardian of the commons. 'A dark hero' she once called you. She admired you because you were close to her age. You gave her hope that someone as young as her would be able to become a hero and a warrior as well."

Lyonel was shocked by this revelation. She thought of him as a hero? No one ever admired him so much, save his younger siblings.

Arya Stark was truly a one of a kind, "I… I'm willing to try if… if she is."

Lyonel did not wait to hear their answer as he turned around and walked outside. He needed to be alone with his thoughts. He had heard of an abandoned tower. A perfect place if he didn't want to be seen. When Lyonel arrived, he saw Bran climbing the tower. Bran stood on the edge of a window. He seemed to be talking to someone, but who could possibly be up there? A hand suddenly shot out from the window and pushed Bran.

"BRAN!" He roared as his reflexes instantly sprung his legs into action as he rushed to catch Bran. His heart was beating in his ears as he got closer and closer, as Bran got closer and closer to the ground. Lyonel saw Bran flailing his arms, desperate to grab onto something. The sight drove him to run even faster. He heard the stomping of dirt beneath his feet as mud flew into the air. When Bran was only a few meters from the ground, Lyonel jumped as he held out his arms. He caught Bran in his arms, but to his dismay, Bran's head hit the ground and knocked him unconscious.

Blood flowed from his head, but not that much thankfully. Lyonel cradled the young boy before quickly running to the courtyard, taking care not to aggravate the wound on Bran's head along the way. And he didn't know where to find a Maester so he knew no better place than to try and find him. When Lyonel arrived, only a few people noticed him as most of them held their hands to their mouths and gasped. He immediately shouted, "BRING THE MAESTER, QUICKLY!" People stared at him in shock before panicking. A man who Lyonel recognized as Jory Cassel, nephew of Ser Rodrik, took Bran from his arms before running off to find Maester Luwin.

All Lyonel could do was hope he wasn't too late.


	3. Breakfast and The Trident

Lyonel stared at the unconscious body of Bran. Once Jory Cassel took Bran in his arms, he immediately took him to Maester Luwin. Luwin put Bran in a bed before sending Jory to alert the Starks of the situation. Lyonel never left Bran's room, unless it was to help speed Bran's recovery when the old maester needed to examine Bran's wounds and to stitch it up. Even then, Lyonel stood vigilant outside, guarding the room behind him. Lyonel became so frustrated and angered by the fact that someone just tried to kill Bran, and almost succeeded. A frown marred his face. He paced back and forth in front of the room, his hands clenched at his sides. He could hear Grey Wind howling. Lyonel thought it odd how he was able to discern the direwolves' howls, but dismissed instantly as more pressing matters were at hand. After a while, Lord and Lady Stark finally arrived. Lord Stark had a look of anger and shock while Lady Stark looked ready to cry.

The moment she saw him, she immediately walked up to him, her voice thick with concern, "What's happened to Bran?! Where is my son?!"

Lyonel stopped pacing before looking at her, "Someone pushed him from the abandoned tower. I went there to clear my head and I saw him standing on the edge of a window. A hand shot out and pushed him. I caught him but his head… his head hit the ground."

Lady Catelyn shook her head slowly as she backed away in dismay, "No, no!"

Lyonel realized his mistake and quickly mended it, "He is unconscious, not dead."

Lady Catelyn breathed out in relief as she closed her eyes. She looked at him before suddenly hugging Lyonel tightly, "Thank you! You are a gift sent from the gods, Lyonel Baratheon!" Lyonel was taken aback by the warm gesture. He realized how much he truly missed the warm embrace of a kind mother. He slowly returned the hug before Lady Stark pulled away.

Lord Stark stepped forward, not wanting to waste his own time and resources on a wild goose chase rather than spending it on Bran's recovery "Are you sure about this?"

Lyonel nodded, his frown returning to his face, "I know what I saw." He started pacing back and forth again. Lyonel suddenly smashed the table with his hand as it splintered, almost breaking in half. Eddard and Catelyn stared at him, startled. Lyonel looked at his hand and saw that a tiny piece of wood had pierced the skin of his knuckle. He pulled it out before shaking his head in anger. Lyonel suddenly felt a rough tongue licking the blood off his hand. He looked down to see Summer, who whimpered sadly. Lyonel's expression and eyes softened immediately as he kneeled down before hugging the direwolf tightly. His whines burdened Lyonel's heart with weight of sadness.

"Who would do this to a boy of ten years," Lady Stark asked.

Lyonel pulled back before looking Summer in the eyes, "Someone who is going to suffer when I get my hands on them." Eddard and Catelyn were touched that the prince cared about their son so passionately. "If I hadn't been there to catch Bran, he would have died or worse… crippled." Catelyn winced at the thought of her active little Bran crippled. Lyonel stood up, his anger returning. No matter how much he tried to calm down, his rage returned. What if this had been Tommen? Oh gods, the thought of it broke Lyonel's heart in two. But how different was Bran from Tommen? They were both around the same age, the differences being that Tommen is shyer while Bran is only shy when you meet him. But Bran also had sisters and brothers, a loving father and mother. Something that Lyonel and his siblings did not. And someone had tried to take him away.

Lyonel had enough as he growled, "I'm going to the tower!" He opened the door with such force it was a wonder it didn't fall off its hinges. His hands clenched tightly as he marched to the abandoned tower. His hand slowly wandered to the knife hidden in his waist before suddenly deciding to remove it. He would kill the man with his bare hands. He got lost several times when he turned the opposite way that he should have but in the end found his way. He immediately walked over to the window and looked down to see where he stood when Bran was pushed. The mud still had a visible mark where Lyonel slid across when he jumped to catch Bran. Lyonel moved away from the window before his intelligent eyes quickly scanned the room. His nostrils were filled with the scent of… lust? His fury rose within him. Did someone take pleasure in pushing Bran off of the tower? But no man could be so foul. Not even Joffrey. He might receive pleasure from hurting people, but never the sexual kind. At least not when harming children. Even he is not that twisted. _'Perhaps the scent was here before Bran was. Perhaps Bran saw someone together with the wrong person and they tried to silence him.'_

Lyonel spotted dust marks on the ground, a sign that someone had moved, and a lot. His eyes caught a glint of the moonlights reflection. His crouched down before picking up a long strand of hair. After further inspection, he noticed it was golden blond. Before he had a chance to inspect it, he heard footsteps behind him. He immediately span around before preparing to lunge at his victim. The man holds up his hands, "At ease! It is only I, my prince."

Lyonel relaxed, "Forgive me, Lord Stark. I am on edge tonight."

"Understandable," Lord Stark said. "Have you found anything?"

Lyonel looked behind him and pointed at the dust marks, "Someone was here. Those dust marks indicate a lot of movement, so someone else was here as Bran was only standing on the window's edge. I also found this on the ground." Lyonel straightened the hair out before presenting it to Lord Stark, "Golden blond."

Lord Stark took the hair before inspecting it closely. He lowered the hair before looking at the man who saved his son's life, "My prince, I cannot thank you enough for the deed you have done for my family. I believe it is best you rest. You have done more than enough for us."

Lyonel shook his head, "Not nearly enough, my lord." He reluctantly walked past Eddard, not speaking another word.

 **Next Day**

Lyonel woke up slightly later than his normal waking hours. He realized he had missed breakfast with his siblings and immediately made himself decent before making his way outside. He went to the stables to find his uncle Tyrion. Lyonel had found his uncle in the most queer and bizarre places. With that in mind, finding Tyrion in the stables would be a blessing. When Lyonel arrived, he was greeted by the welcome sight of his uncle slapping Joffrey. "Do you understand?" Tyrion's tone suggested he had repeated the question. Lyonel walked up behind Tyrion before slapping Joffrey himself.

Joffrey whimpered as he held his cheek. It was starting to redden, "What was that for?!"

Lyonel frowned as he nodded towards Tyrion, "The same reason he did it!" Lyonel's expression went curious as he mock-whispered to Tyrion, "Why did you slap him?"

Tyrion had an amused glint in his eyes, but decided to play along. He placed his hand on the side of his mouth, covering it from Joffrey's and Sandor's sights, "He wouldn't give his condolences to Lord and Lady Stark.

"Oh," Lyonel said before he frowned again and looked at Joffrey, "Because you refused to give Lord and Lady Stark your condolences!"

Joffrey looked half ready to cry and half furious before he walked past them. Sandor immediately followed like a loyal hound, but not before glaring at Lyonel. Lyonel's expression betrayed nothing as he calmly stared back at the Hound. His nose was slightly deformed as his left eye had bruised. When Lyonel and Tyrion were left alone, they looked at each other as Tyrion smiled, "Good morning, nephew."

Lyonel smiled back, "Good morning, uncle. And my most profound gratitude to you for the welcoming sight of Joffrey being slapped."

Tyrion laughed, "You are quite welcome. I'd be lying if I said I received no joy in doing so. Now dear nephew, join me so that we may break our fast together." Lyonel nodded before he walked alongside his uncle to join the rest of the Lannisters during breakfast.

They arrived inside to see Tommen, Myrcella, Cersei and Jaime sitting at a table and conversing. Lyonel's heart was filled with joy to his young siblings again.

"Lyonel, Uncle!" Myrcella shouts in excitement as she spots her older brother and uncle. Tommen turns around with wide eyes and a smile on his plump lips, "Lyonel!"

Lyonel grins back at them before greeting them back with his deep voice, "Brother, sister!"

Tyrion mocks offence as he looks at Tommen, "And what of me? Have you forgotten your favorite uncle already?"

Jaime turned around with a smug smirk on his face, "No worries, they've already welcomed me."

Tommen and Myrcella giggled. Lyonel sat down next to Tommen on his left, and Tyrion sat on his right. "Is Bran going to die?" Myrcella asks with concern in her voice.

Lyonel shakes his head, "No, but it is unlikely he will remember the past few days. The maester said the wound on his head will result in memory loss, preventing me from finding out who pushed him."

Lyonel pretended to miss the odd glances his mother had sent his uncle, and the relief in their eyes when he mentioned that Bran wouldn't remember the past few days. Lyonel opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Myrcella, "I'm glad no further harm had been caused." She paused before continuing, "So it's true. Bran was pushed."

Lyonel nodded, "The poor lad would have been killed, or crippled if I hadn't been there. I only hope his recovery is a swift one."

"I knew you were a hero!" Tommen said as he suddenly and tightly hugged Lyonel's side.

Lyonel smiled as he hugged Tommen back by placing his arm around Tommen's shoulder, "I'm no hero. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time."

Tyrion interjected from the side, "Humility is a trait common among heroes, nephew." Tyrion turned to look at Cersei, "The charms of the North seem entirely lost on you."

"I still can't believe you're going. This is ridiculous, even for you."

Tyrion only smiled, "Where's your sense of wonder. The greatest structure ever built, the intrepid men of the Night's Watch…" Lyonel continued where Tyrion left off. "The wintery abode of the White Walkers," Lyonel said as he started tickling his baby brother, making him giggle.

Jaime interrupted their fun when he decided to look at Lyonel and ask, "I heard you offered to make Lord Stark's bastard your sworn shield."

Lyonel's smile fell as he nodded, "You heard correctly."

Cersei looked at him with an unreadable expression, "A bastard is not worthy of such an honor."

Lyonel glared at her discreetly, not wishing to ruin his siblings' breakfast, "He's a prolific swordsman, especially from someone his age. He has a moral compass to rival that of Lord Stark, and he's mature beyond his years. I say he deserves even more than I can give him. But the law refuses to allow it. He's most definitely more deserving of such a position than the Hound, yet I hear no complaints." Lyonel flashed a mocking smile, "Oh, but forgive me. Joffrey's always been right about everything, hasn't he?"

Cersei's expression remained unchanged, yet her eyes betrayed her anger.

Myrcella spoke, "Jon's sweet and kind from what I saw of his interactions with his family. He's just… a little shy, that's all."

Lyonel looked at her before smirking, "Does my sworn shield have a secret admirer?"

Cersei's mouth twitched slightly in anger as Myrcella blushed with a small smile and Tommen laughed.

Jaime turned to look at his baby brother, "And you. Don't tell me you're thinking of taking the black?"

Tyrion looked at him with a mix of surprise and disbelief, "And go celibate?! The whores would go begging from Dorne to Casterly Rock. No, I just want to stand at the top of the Wall and piss of the edge of the world."

Lyonel laughed silently as he covered his mouth with his hand while Tommen and Myrcella giggled. Jaime settled for an amused smirk, but Cersei was of a different mind. She stood up as she glared at Tyrion, "The children do not need to hear your filth. Come!" she commanded Myrcella and Tommen.

"Goodbye, Lyonel!" Myrcella and her baby brother said at the same time when they followed Cersei. Lyonel waved back at them with a smile before turning to find a servant bringing him his breakfast. He broke his fast with his uncles before he bid them goodbye. His mind had been on Bran the entire morning, and he thought he would visit him to see his current condition. When Lyonel arrived at Bran's room, he saw Lady Stark making an effigy of the Seven. _'I wouldn't bother praying to the Seven. They never answered my prayers; I doubt it would be different for you.'_

Lady Stark noticed him and stood up, her eyes puffy and red from crying, "My prince. I did not see you come in." She looked at her clothes, "I would have dressed if I had known you would com-"

Lyonel held up his hand to stop her from speaking, "What clothes I prefer you in is of least priority, Lady Stark."

Catelyn nods with a thankful smile on her face, "I… Thank you for saving my son's life. If it hadn't been for you…" She drifted off

"Think nothing of it. But you must not think on the past and on what might have been. Think on what _is_. Save your thoughts for the present, and for Bran." Catelyn nodded. Lyonel turned to look at Bran's face. He looked so peaceful. Lyonel walked over to his side before leaning to his ear. Catelyn barely made out what he said. " **Tubī daor** ," Lyonel whispered. Catelyn felt confused at hearing the unknown language, wondering what it meant.

Lyonel stood up straight before nodding towards Catelyn and walking out of the room. When he arrived outside, his eyes immediately spotted Robb and Jon walking towards his direction. Robb's intention was clear as his eyes stared at Lyonel. Lyonel made his way to the heir of Winterfell rather than waiting for him to arrive. When he did, Robb immediately thanked Lyonel, "M-Lyonel… father told us what happened. I want you to know that I am eternally grateful, and I would be proud to call myself your friend. You have proven yourself to be open minded and tolerant to Jon, and you saved Bran's life. I am in debt to you." Robb held out his hand, to which Lyonel responded by shaking politely.

"Think nothing of it."

Robb nodded, his expression still serious, "Father also told us you are to marry my sister." Lyonel only nodded in response. "She never wanted to get married. She even hated the thought."

"I know. Which is why I'm going to make sure she starts loving it. I promise you that I will do anything in my power to keep her happy." Robb nodded in gratitude. Lyonel continued, "I imagine her reaction was less than joyful?"

Robb and Jon looked at each other, before Robb turned to look back at Lyonel, "Something of the ilk."

 **Before**

Lord Stark had summoned his children with the exception of Rickon, who was too young and Bran. He summoned them to his solar. They all sat in their own respective chairs, waiting patiently for their father to make his announcement. Robb's face was stern as he prepared to listen, while Jon was brooding as usual. Sansa's eyes were red from crying when she had been told about Bran, yet she looked like a lady regardless. Arya's eyes betrayed her fury that someone tried to kill her brother. Her mood would only get worse after what Eddard had planned to announce.

He sighed, "I'm sorry to summon you all here at a time such as this. But I feel it is best if we get this out of the way early." They all started listening intently. "I am to leave for King's Landing tomorrow. Robb, you are to remain here and act as Lord of Winterfell while I am gone, for there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Rickon will remain with you, as will Bran until he has healed fully, and not before."

Robb nodded, his face remaining serious. Ned continued, "Jon, I have heard rumors throughout Winterfell. Prince Lyonel has offered you a position as his sword shield. Is it true?"

Jon nodded, "It is, father. And I have accepted."

Eddard couldn't help the small smile on his face, "Dedicating your life to protect a prince's is a great honor. I have no doubt you will honor the prince and our house." Jon nodded. "Now for the difficult part. The king and I have come to an agreement to join our house with the house of Baratheon."

Jon and Robb both sent a concerned look towards Sansa, who seemed eager to hear the news. Arya simply had a disinterested look on her face.

Eddard internally sighed, "The king and I have decided that Prince Lyonel is to marry Arya when she comes of age."

Robb and Jon's eyes widened in surprise, while Sansa's expression of eagerness died down and was replaced with a look of shock. Arya's expression terrified Eddard the most, but he didn't show it. Her face slowly morphed into that of angered shock, "WHAT!"

Sansa looked ready to cry, "Why!? I was supposed to marry Joffrey and bear him golden haired children! But instead you decide to marry of Arya Horseface to that monster!" Arya tried to hide it, but her sister's words wounded her.

"Sansa, you will apologize to Arya immediately! I will not hear you speak such things again, especially about the prince! Am I understood?" Eddard sternly commanded. Sansa sealed her mouth shut and nodded with a dead expression on her face, but her eyes betrayed her anger.

Arya looked at him with an almost morose expression mixed with outrage, "Why me!? Why would you do this to me!?"

Eddard commanded everyone but Arya to leave the room. Once they left, Eddard sat down next to Arya, who stared at the ground with her shoulders slouched, and spoke in a tone that broke Eddard's heart, "You know I don't want to get married."

Eddard put his arm around her shoulders, "I know, sweet wolf, I know… When your mother and I first married, we felt no love for each other. We were strangers marrying for the benefits of our houses. But after some time we grew to love each other so much, it was bizarre to even think we thought each other as strangers once. Love at first sight is a foolish notion that young, immature children feel. They think they know love, when in truth they don't even know the half of it. Love takes time. I have no doubt that Lyonel will make you happy, and I have no doubt that it will take less than years for your love to grow like your mother and mine did." Eddard sighed, "Look at me."

Arya did so. "Do you think Lyonel is the kind that will take your freedom away from you and put you in a castle where you will live out the rest of your days?"

Arya shook her head, "…No."

"No," Eddard agreed. "In fact, I would so far as to say he would give you more freedom than you could ever have when not married. He's a second born prince, with an open mind and a belief of equality between all living creatures. Even animals." It was a trait that Eddard admired greatly, yet the motive behind it was what surprised him. He remembered his friend's words, _"The lad's a foolish one, as brave as he is. He thinks all are equal, including all animals!"_ Eddard heard his laugh echo throughout his head. _"So I ask him one day 'why?'. Do you know what he answered? He said: 'It doesn't matter if you're the happiest person, or an unfortunate weeper. A powerful beast, or a petty insect. For all are equal in the eyes of death.'_

Eddard shook himself out of his musing, "If he believes in equality for all creatures, he believes in equality for both men and women. If you love riding, archery and sword fighting, I have no doubt he will allow you to do those things, and more if you wish it."

Arya seemed to cheer up ever so slightly, before she suddenly looked sad once again, "Why would anyone want to marry me? I'm just Arya Horseface, why would he let me do those things? He probably blames me for the marriage."

Arya only heard silence for a short while before her father spoke, "Do you know his reaction when we told him?" Arya shook her head. "The first thing he did was say. 'Arya does not wish for marriage'." Arya looked surprised as her eyes widened. "The first thing that came to his mind was your wishes. He didn't complain, yell, object, he didn't do anything that suggested his reluctance. The first thing he did was talk about what _you_ wanted. He did not care one bit about his own opinion. The king argued that you would make him happy since you managed to make him laugh. The last time the king heard the prince laugh was at the age of ten." Arya looked even more surprised. "Do you know what he responded with?" Another shake. "He said: 'What about Arya's happiness?'." Eddard knew he needn't say any more words.

Arya stared at her father with wide eyes and at a loss for words. She looked down at the ground and stared before she said, "I'm… I'm willing to try if he is."

Eddard smiled. Those words were the exact same ones said by Lyonel.

He had a feeling they would be getting along well.

 **Present**

Lyonel nodded in understanding, yet his eyes lingered on Jon. If Myrcella would grow to be infatuated with Jon, he would be in peril.

 **The Trident**

Jon rushed to find the second prince. That annoying little shit, Joffrey, ran back to his mother and had accused Arya of setting her wolf on him while she and a butcher's boy beat him with clubs. He immediately ran to find Lyonel in the woods when he heard the queen was sending Lannister soldiers to find her. Jon spotted Lyonel and was shocked to silence at what he saw.

Lyonel sat with his back against a large tree at the edge of the forest. In front of him, not too far away, was the ruby ford where the water ran. What shocked Jon was how Lyonel sat. He leaned his back against the tree as its thick roots ran along his legs, but didn't surround them. Lyonel's expression was calm. He held his longsword in his hand as it was held in front of him, pointed in the air. His other hand was cleaning the blade.

Jon remembered his childhood well. He remembered the first time Theon Greyjoy had called him a bastard. It sent the young Jon crying to his father. When he found him, he was sitting with his back leaned against the weirwood tree. His expression was calm and somber as he held Ice in his hand, held in front of him. His other hand cleaned the blade of the blood of a traitor from the Night's Watch.

At that moment, Jon's father and the prince were a splitting image of each other.

They had the same reaction when seeing Jon. They both looked at him with their calm expression not leaving their faces. They even asked the same thing. "What's wrong?" Jon couldn't help but hear his father's voice when Lyonel was the one speaking.

Jon shook himself out of his shock and immediately explained the situation. Lyonel's expression didn't change until he heard that Arya was being searched for by the Lannister soldiers. His expression turned into one of anger. They both immediately started searching for Arya. If Jon was being honest with himself, he thought the prince would give up sooner or later if they didn't find her swiftly. He was surprised at how persistent Lyonel was. He simply wouldn't give up.

Lyonel swiftly spun around when he heard a rustle of bushes to see Nymeria. She shared the same grey fur that her siblings did, save Ghost. Her dark golden eyes and her whines revealed her worry. Lyonel knew the worry wasn't about herself. Nymeria suddenly turned around before running, prompting Lyonel and Jon to follow. They both ran until Nymeria stopped. Lyonel was relieved to see Arya, but found that she was not alone. "Arya," Jon shouts. Arya has a frightened expression on her face when she turned around but was visibly relieved when she saw that Jon had found her. Her expression turned shy and reclusive when she spotted Lyonel. She had been avoiding him for days, and having their first talk after such a time in the current circumstances were embarrassing.

Before they found her, a Lannister soldier caught her. Lyonel heard the things he said. The harassments and threats about what the queen would do when they found her. The soldier moved to stop Arya but noticed Lyonel, "My prince!" Arya quickly runs into Jon's arms and hugs him tightly.

"Take her back to her father," the second born prince said as he continued to stare at the soldier. Jon nods and walks off. The soldier tried to stop them but was interrupted when Nymeria stepped forward and growled. She walked to Lyonel's side, her teeth bared. Lyonel surprised Jon and Arya when he simply grazed Nymeria's neck, making her stop. It was as if Nymeria knew exactly what Lyonel had commanded, and even more surprising is that she obeyed immediately. He looked at Jon, who had stopped, "Go." Jon does so, and doesn't stop. He motions for Nymeria to go along with them. Once Lyonel and the soldier were left alone, he turned to look at him, "Explain."

"My prince, she attacked your brother and set her wolf on him. It was your mother who commanded me to bring her back."

Lyonel's voice was as calm as still water, "Why were you harassing and threatening my betrothed?"

The soldier's eyes betrayed his fear, as did his nervous and stammering voice, "M-my prince, your mother- she commanded me to-"

"Did she command you to bring Arya to her or to harass and threaten her? Actually, don't answer that." The soldier made no attempt to hide his fear anymore, as he no doubt had heard the rumors about the prince. The silence was deafening to the soldier as Lyonel glared at him. The soldier was surprised when Lyonel nodded in the direction of Jon and Arya's direction, "Go."

The soldier was visibly relieved, "Thank you, my prince." He walked past Lyonel.

Lyonel suddenly pulls out the knife hidden in his waist before grabbing the soldier from behind and placing the blade on the soldier's jugular and dragging it across his throat, opening it as blood sprayed out. The soldier flailed his arms in shock and panic as he struggled to breath, yet all he did was gasp for the air he never received. Lyonel put his arms around the soldier's body to stop him from moving before lifting his head to open the wound and let more blood flow. The man's body shook violently in Lyonel's arms. After a few minutes, the gasping and the flailing and violent shakes stopped as the man's body went limp in Lyonel's arms. Lyonel dropped the corpse before staring at it. The man's skin was pale and milky white. He kneels before grabbing the Lannister's red cloak and wiping the blade. It reminded Lyonel of the story about the pirate captain with the red shirt. _'It's so they can't see me bleed,'_ Lyonel quoted in his head. He stands up and is relieved to see that he only had a few tiny blood stains on his arm. In all honesty, he wouldn't care if anyone noticed.

He made his way to the direction of Jon and found them, by following the footprints of a direwolf, a normal person's and a little girl's. He runs after them and decided to warn them so they would not think him a wild animal or a Lannister, "Jon! Arya!" They both turn around in surprise. Nymeria too turned around, yet she seemed to have already sensed him as she didn't perk up when in surprise when hearing his voice. Arya, once again, had a shy expression when she saw him. When he arrived at their side, he said "Let's go." He walked, not waiting for a response.

As they walked, Arya couldn't help but ask, "Where did the man go?"

Lyonel says nothing and continues to look forward. Jon and Arya knew better than to pry any further. Arya's urge to speak to Lyonel grew with every step they took. She finally uttered out words, "Thank you." She stared at the ground, not wanting to look him in the eyes. The awkwardness would be too much for her, since she had been avoiding him.

Lyonel stares at her before he spoke. "Think nothing of it."

They continued to make their way through the forest. After a while, Arya suddenly remembered something as a look of realization dawned on her face. She quickly looks up at Lyonel, "Mycah!" Lyonel furrowed his brows in confusion. She elaborated, "The butcher's son!" Lyonel's eyes revealed the realization he had.

He was quiet before speaking, "If he is harmed in any way… the culprits will pay."

Arya was thankful for the thought, yet the words did not comfort her. She wished for her friend's safety, not his vengeance. When they finally arrived, they were approached by two Lannister's. "My prince," they greeted as they bowed their heads. "You found them. We can take it from here." The taller one moved to grab Arya but was stopped by Jon and Nymeria, who moves in front of her. "Move, bastard!" he hissed as his hand went to the pommel of his sword. Lyonel's hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his arm before lifting it straight and slamming the palm of his hand against the man's elbow. It broke as the snapping of bones was heard along with the man's screams. Blood flew out as his broken bones protruded from his arm. Lyonel quickly tired of his screams as he kicked the back of the soldier's feet, knocking him on the ground, and raising the sole of his foot before bringing it down on the man's head. The screams stopped as the Lannister was effectively knocked out. Arya stared on in shock of Lyonel's brutality. She would be lying if she said it didn't scare her. Jon was also shocked, but he knew Lyonel wouldn't hurt them… as long he had no reason to.

Lyonel calmly, and slowly, turned to look at the other man-at-arm, staring at him. He motioned his head towards the unconscious man next to his feet. The soldier nervously walked over and picked up his friend before quickly carrying him off. Lyonel turned around and looked at Jon, "Take her to Lord Stark."

Jon nodded in response before he took Arya's hand and led her to her father's tent.

Lyonel stared after them in silence. He suddenly felt a tongue licking his fingers. He looked down to see Nymeria looking at him with sad eyes. He knelt down before petting her comfortingly, as he did with Summer. Nymeria's eyes displayed sadness and concern. "Don't worry. I won't let anything happen to her, or you… I promise."

Nymeria seemed to perk up as she licked Lyonel's face in gratitude. Lyonel swore she understood his words. He pulled his head away and wiped his cheek with his hand and spoke in a disgusted tone, "Think nothing of it."

Lyonel heard a voice behind him, "My prince." He turned around to stare at a Lannister. This one did not seem to be nervous or fearful of Lyonel. _'Seems not all of them are cravens,'_ Lyonel thought. "Your presence is requested at the tavern," the man said with stern eyes. Lyonel turned his head around to look at Nymeria before nodding to a tent off in the distance. Nymeria instantly understood as she rushed towards it. Lyonel stood up before looking at the Lannister, wordlessly commanding him to lead the way.

 **Tavern**

Lyonel stood next to Arya's right, while her father stood to her left. Lyonel stared at his mother as she begun to accuse Arya of attacking Joffrey. His face was impassive. "Your girl and the butcher's boy attacked my son. That animal of hers nearly tore his arm off," Cersei accused calmly while staring at Lord Stark.

"That's not true!" Arya exclaimed. "She just… bit him a little." The king looked at Arya with an inquiring look. "He was hurting Mycah," She explained.

"Joffrey told us what happened. You and that boy beat him with club while you set your wolf on him." Arya opened her mouth to protest, but was interrupted by Lyonel.

"They poked him with sticks, while he wielded a blade?"

Cersei glared at him, "She attacked him either way."

"That's not what happened!" Arya protested.

"Yes it is! They all attacked me and she threw my sword into the river!" Joffrey lied

"Liar!"

"Shut up!" Joffrey complained immaturely.

The king had enough, "Enough! She tells me one thing, he tells me another! Seven hells, what am I to make of this?" There was no response. "Where is your other daughter, Ned?"

"She's asleep."

Cersei shook her head with a smirk, "She's not. Sansa, come here, darling." Lyonel turns around to see a nervous Sansa walking slowly to the middle of the room, behind her stood Ser Meryn. Robert motions for her to step closer, to which she obeys. "Now, child. Tell me what happened. Tell it all and tell it true. Tis a great crime to lie to a king."

Sansa nervously looks at Eddard before turning back to the king. "I don't know. I don't remember. Everything happened so fast. I didn't see anything."

Arya tried to charge her sister, but is stopped by Lyonel who crouches down and holds her by her shoulder while she shouts, "Liar! Liar, liar, liar!"

"She's as wild as that animal of hers! I want her punished," Cersei demanded.

The king turns to look at her, "And what would you have me do, hm? Whip her through the streets? Dammit, children fight. It's over!"

Cersei glares at him, "Joffrey will bear these scars for the rest of his life-"

"Good," Lyonel announces, surprising everyone. "Perhaps the next time he sees his scars, he will remember Nymeria's teeth piercing his flesh. Then he will remember Arya is my betrothed, and I am far more dangerous than a direwolf. And I will do more than harm his hand. I will rip off his head and adorn the highest point in King's Landing with it the next time he tries to harm Arya Stark of Winterfell."

Joffrey pathetically tried to hide behind his mother. Lyonel turned around to walk away before Cersei's voice was heard. "He is your brother! How can you not be defending him!" Cersei demands angrily.

"DO NOT SPEAK TO ME OF DEFENDING MY SIBLINGS!" Lyonel roars after he turned around, scaring and shocking almost everyone inhabiting the room. Cersei stared at him in shock. "I have been forced to defend Tommen and Myrcella from Joffrey's sadism and cruelty! Time and time again you have defended him!" He turns around to loudly announce to the crowd, "Your crown prince once gutted a pregnant cat, in an attempt to impress our father by presenting its unborn kittens! 'A child's curiosity' my mother stated! He once skinned Tommen's cat, for simply bothering him and presented it to Tommen. 'He should have kept his cat close to him,' my mother defended! He tried to cut off my fingers, and I defended myself and broke his! What do I get for simply trying to survive!? My mother beats me!" Lyonel turns around and glares at his mother, "You have no right to even utter the word 'family'!" Everyone in the room stared at Lyonel in shock, and surprisingly, some even had sympathy in their eyes as they stared at him. Their eyes held shock as they stared at their queen and crown prince, now that their true colors were exposed.

"And you!" Lyonel shouts as he points at Robert. "How can you even be listening to her poisonous words!? After everything that has happened, after every lie she has uttered!? How can you even be listening to her!?" Robert opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Lyonel, "Enough of this! I tire of the mere sight of you people!"

He turns to look at Sansa, "How can you lie in such a way that cuts your sister's heart the most?" Sansa has a look of shame on her face, and looks down in fear, not daring to look the prince in the eyes. "You disgust me. You and Joffrey deserve each other." He does not utter one more word as he turns around and looks at Arya. He holds out his hand to her. She hesitated, but accepted his hand anyway. They both made their way to the door.

Cersei calls out, "What of the direwolf!?" She turns to look at Robert, "What of the beast that savaged your son?"

Robert sighed in annoyance as he turned to look at a Lannister soldier, "I'd forgotten about the damned wolf."

It was the same soldier who had escorted Lyonel to the tavern, "The prince brought the direwolf back to camp, your grace."

"Good," Cersei says with a smirk on her face.

Arya has a look of panic on her face as she pleaded, "No! Not Nymeria, she didn't do anything! Joffrey attacked us!"

Hearing Arya plead with such a fearful voice angered Lyonel. He shouted without even turning around, "ANYONE! Looks at the direwolf, lose their eyes! Anyone lays a finger on the direwolf, lose their hands! Anyone tries to harm it, lose their life!" A long silence dawned on the room. Lyonel turned around, "Am I understood!?" All of the soldiers nod, some faster than others. Lyonel turns around before leading Arya out of the tavern, leaving everyone in shock.

Lyonel noticed the small glint of pride in his mother's eyes. If her pride for him had a face, he would spit on it. As they arrived outside, Lyonel turned to look at Arya. He was surprised when she jumped into his arms and wrapped her own arms around his neck, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Lyonel slowly shook himself out of his shock before slowly returning the hug. They both failed to notice Jon, who had been watching them from the crowd and followed them outside.

 _'Seems like you found a boy you finally like,'_ Jon states in his head. He chuckles, alerting them to his presence. Arya quickly pulls away in surprise and blushes at being caught by her brother when hugging someone. He would never let her see the end of it. Lyonel felt confused when he noticed her red cheeks. Why would she blush? It was a simple hug between friends, was it not?

Lyonel looks at Arya, "Nymeria, Lady and Ghost cannot stay."

Arya looks at him with surprised, confused and sad eyes, "Why not?"

"It is not safe for them. I too would be saddened by their departure, but it is for their safety." Arya nodded reluctantly. She was surprised to hear he would miss the direwolves, but Jon was not. He noticed their interactions with them. The direwolves loved Lyonel, and Lyonel loved them. They would treat each other as longtime friends, and in Lyonel's case, longtime owner.

"Don't worry. You will have a chance to say your goodbyes." Arya brightened up as she flashed a small smile towards Lyonel in gratitude. Eddard suddenly appeared as he walked out of the tavern. He thanked Lyonel for defending Arya and her direwolf, to which Lyonel responded, "Think nothing of it."

On their way to the direwolves' tent, they came across a shocking sight. The hound held the reins to his horse and walked on the road. The horse carried the body of a young boy, with ginger hair.

"Mycah!" Arya exclaims. She tries to run towards the body, but is stopped by Jon who hugs her. Arya started sobbing, "NO!" No one noticed Lyonel's hands shaking in fury.

Eddard hid his anger, but not well enough for Lyonel to not notice, "The butcher's boy? You rode him down?"

"He ran, but not very fast," Sandor replied without looking back.

"You bastard!" Arya cries out, her eyes shiny and her cheeks wet from tears.

Lyonel finally snapped as he turned around and ran towards Sandor. "Lyonel, DON'T!" Jon exclaims. Lyonel grabs the back of Sandor's head, causing his horse to rear as Mycah's body almost fell off. Lyonel drags Sandor by the head towards a torch before pulling his head back by the hair roughly, and pushing his face into the burning coal, burning his face once more. Sandor's agonized, disturbing and terrifying screams could be heard echoing throughout the entire camp. Lord Stark and his children watched on in shock. Lyonel pulls the Hound's head back before leaning dangerously close to his still-burning face. Lyonel growls, "Eye for an eye!" before roughly throwing Sandor to the ground. He immediately tried to put out his burning face with his cloak.

Lyonel stares at Sandor with an impassive face before he turned around and walked towards Lord Stark. Their faces portrayed shock, while Arya still had tears flowing down her cheeks. "What have you done?" Jon asks.

"Gave a hound the treat it deserves," Lyonel stated as he continued walking.


	4. King's Landing and Tourney

"Oh gods!" Jon exclaimed loudly in disgust as he held his nose, his other hand gripped tightly around the reins of his horse. "I thought you japed when you said the smell was atrocious! It smells of rotten corpses!"

Lyonel looked forward as his horse walked the streets of King's Landing, "Rotten corpses are doubtlessly the source of the smell." Jon stared at him in disbelief before shaking his head and looking forward. This was not what Jon had expected of the capital. The commons all hailed the royal court's return with joyful cheers. Children ran along the sides and stared at the entourage in awe. Men and women opened their windows to stare out at the royal party and cheer as well.

Lyonel stared forward the entire way until they finally arrived inside of The Red Keep. As the gates closed behind them, Lyonel and Jon dismounted, as did Lord Stark who rode in the front. Lyonel saw a servant approaching the lord, "Greetings, Lord Stark. Grand Maester Pycelle has requested a meeting of the small council. The honor of your presence is requested, as is Prince Lyonel's."

Lord Stark turned to look at Lyonel in surprise, "You are a member of the small council?"

Lyonel looked back at him, "At times."

"I never knew."

Lyonel shrugged ever so slightly with his shoulders, "I never told you." He turned to look back at Jon, "Escort Arya and Sansa to their rooms."

"Of course, Lyonel," Jon said with a slight bow to his head.

The prince turned around and looked at the servant before motioning to Jon. The man understood immediately and nodded, "As you wish. Come, ser. And don't forget your sisters."

Lyonel did not look to see or hear Jon's response as he turned to Lord Stark, "Come." Lord Eddard nodded wordlessly before he was guided through the maze of hallways of The Red Keep. The prince seemed to know exactly where to go in order for them to arrive swiftly. Everything started looking more and more familiar to Eddard. He remembered charging through these hallways, swinging Ice at Targaryen loyalists. He remembered opening the doors the throne room, and being greeted with the sight of Aerys lying in a pool of his own blood at the bottom of the stairs while Jaime Lannister sat on the iron monstrosity known as the Iron Throne. His blade was sullied with the blood of a mad dragon, his mocking smirk as he greeted Lord Stark.

They finally opened the doors and walked through the tediously long hall. They both spotted Ser Jaime Lannister sitting on the steps. Jaime stayed as he greeted them, "Nephew, Lord Stark. Thank the gods you two are here. About time we had some stern, northern leadership, with an iron fist to back it up."

Lord Stark greets the Kingslayer back as the man stands up, "Glad to see you're protecting the throne."

Jaime's smirk lingered as he turned to look at the throne, "Sturdy old thing. I wonder how many kings' arses it's polished." He turned around to look at the somber wolf, "And what's the saying: 'The king shits and the Hand wipes'?"

Before Eddard had a chance to retort, Lyonel replied with an irked expression, "Be quiet and let us go on our way. My temper has not improved since the Trident."

Jaime simply smiled and bowed his head, "As you wish, my prince." He walked past them as his steel boots clanged to the floor with every step. When the clanging noise faded to silence, Lyonel wordlessly continued to lead Lord Stark.

They finally arrived and were greeted by the sight of the councilors. Lord Varys was the first to greet them as he stepped forward, "Lord Stark, Prince Lyonel. I was grievously sorry to hear about your troubles on the Kingsroad. We are all praying for prince Joffrey's recovery."

Eddard opened his mouth to speak, yet it was Lyonel's voice that was heard, "Save your prayers for someone who deserves them. Like the butcher's boy."

Lord Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger, finally spoke, "We should all be praying for the hound's recovery. His agony was the direst, was it not?"

 _'He was lucky that was all I did,'_ Lyonel thought, but stayed quiet.

Eddard walked past the Spider and towards Lyonel's least favorite uncle, "Renly! You're looking well."

Renly smiled as he pulled back, "And you look tired from the road. I told them this meeting could wait another day, but…"

"-But we have a kingdom to rule," Baelish finished. Eddard turned to look at him. "I've waited quite some time to meet you, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me."

Lyonel suddenly spoke out with his robust voice, "Not nearly as much as you mentioned her."

Eddard looked back at him in surprise while Baelish did the same, but with a discreet glare in place of a surprised look, "A pleasure to see you again, my prince."

Lyonel said nothing as his gaze penetrated into Baelish's soul. Littlefinger felt greatly unnerved under the prince's gaze, but hid it well.

Lord Stark broke the silence and awkwardness as he turned to look at Baelish, "Catelyn did. I trust you knew my brother Brandon well."

Lord Baelish smirked in response, yet the nervousness lingered in his eyes, "I did. I still carry a token of his esteem, from navel to collarbone." He motioned his hand to the aforementioned areas of his body."

Eddard cracked a small and rare smile, "Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with."

"It was not the man I chose, Lord Stark. It was Catelyn Tully, a woman worth fighting for. As I'm sure you'll agree."

Pycelle interjected from the side, "I humbly beg your pardon, Lord Stark."

Eddard turned to look at the old maester, "Grand Maester."

"How many years has it been? You were a young man."

Eddard nodded, "And you served another king."

Pycella stared at the man, masking his loss for words as thoughtfulness. He feigned recollection of a memory as he suddenly reached into his pockets, "Oh, how forgetful of me. This belongs to you now." Pycelle held out The Hand's pin. Eddard received it before pinning it to his chest. "Should we begin?"

Eddard looked around, confused, "Without the king?"

Renly had opened his mouth to speak when Lyonel interrupted, "The king is drinking and whoring as always. We rule the Seven Kingdoms, not him."

Eddard stared at him in surprise before nodding slowly. Everyone sat down in their respective seats, with the omission of Lyonel who leaned against the wall sideways. Renly held out a scroll to Lord Stark. As he opened the scroll, Renly explained the contents, "My brother instructs us to stage a tournament, in honor of Lord Stark's appointment as Hand of The King."

Baelish looked at Eddard, "How much?"

He sighed as he read the numbers, "30,000 gold dragons for the champion, 20,000 for the melee champion and 20,000 for the winning archer."

"Can the treasury bear such expense?" Pycelle asks.

Baelish shrugged, "We can borrow gold from Lord Tywin, seeing as we already owe him two million in debt."

Eddard stared at him in shock and disbelief, "You mean to tell me the crown is two million in debt?"

"I mean to tell you we are three million in debt. You should be thanking the prince. Without him, the crown's debt would have doubled, if not more."

Eddard turned to look at Lyonel, his shocked and disbelieving expression still on his face. Lyonel nodded in confirmation. "How could you have let this happen?" Eddard demands as he looks at all of the members but Lyonel.

Baelish was the one to answer, "The master of coin finds the money. The king, hence the hand, spends it."

"I will not believe Jon Arryn allowed Robert to bankrupt the realm!"

Pycelle spoke next, "The previous Hand often offered wise and prudent advice. But I fear the king does not always listen to said advice."

" _Counting coppers_ , he calls it," Renly added.

Eddard sighed, "I will speak to him on the morrow."

"No need," Lyonel said suddenly.

Eddard looked at him, "I do not follow, my prince."

"No need. I will pay from my own pockets."

Eddard stared at him in confusion, "My prince, how will you be able to afford 70,000 gold drag-"

"I can afford 20,000 gold dragons," he interrupts.

"Sorry?"

Lyonel shrugged, still leaning against the wall, "Or maybe nothing at all. I aim to win the jousting and the archery. If luck favors me, I will win the melee also, although it might be unlikely. And unless my master joins the archery range, we have few things to fret over." Lyonel mentally added, _'The last thing we need is Tywin Lannister to bend us over the table once he comes to collect his debt.'_

"Your master?"

Lyonel elaborated, "The man who trained me in archery. Half of the gold I win will go to paying off the debt."

Eddard nodded his thanks but could not help but wonder, "And the rest?"

"The rest will go to the stone masons."

Eddard, once again, had a look of confusion on his face, "What stone masons?"

Renly spoke in place of Lyonel, "My dear nephew has begun the construction of canteens and housings for the poor and ill, a most noble task."

Eddard turned towards Lyonel, who spoke, "The gold should be enough for the masons to buy materials and tools. Any gold left over will go to the orphanage."

The Lord of Winterfell stared at Lyonel. _'He's as shrewd as his grandfather.'_

Lyonel stood straight, "If there is nothing else…" Lyonel did not wait as he turned around and walked out of the room to find Jon and Arya.

 **Later**

Lyonel leaned against the doorframe to the Stark's dining room. The shadow of the door frame hid his figure well enough that the Starks would not notice him. His sworn shield, Arya, Sansa and Septa Mordane sat as they ate together. Arya stabbed at the table with her dinner knife over and over again.

The Septa soon had enough, "Enough of that, young lady. Eat your food."

"I'm practicing," Arya responded as she continued to stab the table.

"Practicing for what?" Sansa asked.

Arya glared at her, "Prince Joffrey."

The Septa looked at Arya with wide eyes as she scolded, "Arya, stop." Sansa glared at her sister. Jon repressed the urge to smile as he pretended to try to stop Arya.

"He's a liar and he killed Mycah!"

Lyonel decided to make himself known, "You want to get Joffrey?"

Mordane and Sansa gasped in surprise while Jon's eyes widened. Arya grinned as she saw him, "Lyonel!" She stood up from her chair before running to hug Lyonel, a hug which he returned.

As he pulled back, he stared at her before repeating, "You want to get Joffrey?" Arya nodded firmly. Lyonel stared at her before he said, "Get in line." Arya smiled in response, as did Jon though his smile was smaller.

Sansa tried to defend Joffrey, "The Hound killed Mycah. He got his punishment. You blinded him in one eye."

Lyonel had thought Sansa would choose her own family over Joffrey, an assumption which he stated during the feast at Winterfell to Arya. He was surprised, and disgusted to be proven otherwise. He had stopped trying to prove to Sansa that his brother was a monster. If she chooses to be ignorant, so be it.

Arya angrily retorted, "The Hound does what Joffrey tells him to do. And if you hadn't been a liar, Mycah would still be alive."

"Enough!" The Septa commanded as she stood up.

Eddard's voice was heard as he walked into the room, "What is happening here?"

Mordane turned to look at her lord, "Arya would rather act like a beast than a lady."

Lyonel turned to her with an angry expression, "You will guard your tongue when speaking about Arya, lest you see it removed." The Septa was taken aback as her eyes widened at the threat. The inhabitants of the room all stared at Lyonel.

Eddard quickly decided to remove the tension from the room, "My prince, please take Arya to her room." Lyonel stared at the Septa, his eyes unnerving her. He looked away before gently taking Arya's hand in his own. He walked away to guide Arya to her room.

Jon attempted to follow, but was stopped by his father, "Not you, Jon. I wish to trade words with you." Jon looked at his father in surprise before nodding.

Lyonel opened the door to Arya's room before he walked inside with her. Arya walked over to the bed on the opposite end of the room before she sat on it. She stared at the ground as Lyonel turned around and closed the door behind him. He walked over before sitting next to her on the bedside. He glanced at her and to his hidden surprise; he saw tears falling down her cheeks. Arya must have seen him notice her tears as she looked away.

"Arya," Lyonel said. "Arya, don't look away." Arya continues to stare off. Lyonel felt his chest pain ever so slightly at seeing his friend this way. He thought he was close enough to her that she would confide in him as a friend. Perhaps he should let her know she could. His voice was surprisingly soft as he spoke "Arya, it's alright. I'm your friend. You don't need to hide your feelings when you're with me, ever."

Arya turned to look at him slowly. Lyonel saw her wet cheeks, her trembling lips and her welling eyes. He cupped her cheeks with his hands before wiping the tears with his thumbs. "Don't think you need to hold your feelings inside. Not when I'm here. I will always be there to listen. Don't hide what you're thinking or feeling."

Arya stared at him, her eyes wide in surprise and relief. She suddenly threw herself at him and hugged him tightly as she wrapped her arms around his neck before sobbing on his shoulder. Lyonel was surprised by the sudden embrace before he slowly brought his hands to rub her back soothingly.

Arya spoke with a trembling voice, "It's my fault Mycah's dead. I should never have asked him to play with me!"

Lyonel pulled back before staring into her eyes, his expression soft along with his eyes, "Don't blame yourself, Arya. You could never have known this would happen. It was Joffrey's fault and his fault only, no matter what anyone else says. I promise you that someone will pay for Mycah's life, be it the Hound or Joffrey. But no matter what, don't ever blame yourself. Understood?"

Arya stared at him before nodding. She suddenly hugged him again, although this time less spontaneously, "Thank you."

Arya missed the rare smile on Lyonel's face as he said, "Don't mention it."

Arya pulled back and saw the smile on his face. They were suddenly interrupted when Lord Stark opened the door. Lyonel and Arya both snap their heads towards the door to see him walk in. Lord Stark noticed Arya's red eyes, "What's wrong, Arya?"

Arya smiled before shaking her head, "Nothing, father."

Lyonel stood up, his smile faded, "I shall take my leave."

Eddard nodded and moved to his right to allow the prince to leave the room. He stared after him before closing the door.

Lyonel's eyes were closed shut as he sat on the only chair in his room. Unlike the rest of his family, his room was not as bedecked. It was spartan as it only had a bed big enough for one person only, a nightstand next to it, a table right next to the window opposite of the front door and a chair. Lyonel sighed quietly, enjoying the rare silence. He sighed once again, though this time in hidden annoyance, as he heard knocking on his door. He stood up before walking over and opening the door. Lord Stark was revealed, his hand closed and raised as he was going to knock again. He lowered his hand quickly, "My prince. May I come in?"

He received a wordless nod in response. Eddard thanked him with a nod of his head as Lyonel stepped aside. The prince closed the door before turning to his betrothed's father.

Eddard turned to look at Lyonel, "I have come to ask of you, who is trustworthy in the council? -Besides you, of course. Your father had told me you would help."

Lyonel stared at him, "Pycelle works for my mother in secret. At least, that's what she assumes. In truth, his words find my grandfather's ears. Renly is as lazy as ever, but someone has his ear as well. But I do not know who." Lyonel knew who it was. _'Loras Tyrell,_ ' He thought. The reason Lyonel knew this thanks to his spy network. He may not have the largest, though he almost did as it was second only to the spider's, but he most definitely has the best hidden. No one knew of its existence, not even Varys. On the council, he put on a stern and honorable face but in truth, he thought of honor as a foolish notion made by those who wish to make themselves feel better and benevolent than others. He would never let honor stop his intelligence or survival.

Lyonel continued, "Varys is a far more enigmatic one. He seems to truly care for the realm. Yet I know not if it is nothing more than a mummer's farce or if his interest in the good of the realm is genuine."

Lyonel stayed quiet about Varys' loyalty to the Targaryens. He had already sent a dear and close friend to act as a spy in the Targaryen's midst and to try mending the bad blood between the houses. Lyonel knew it would mean war if he ignored the Targaryens. War is the last thing Lyonel wanted.

 **Across The Narrow Sea**

Daenerys Targaryen sat next to her new husband, Khal Drogo, as she watched men bring gifts and tributes to the newlywed couple. It did not take too long before a man, who spoke the common tongue, approached them with gifts in the form of books. The man revealed himself to be Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island, a man from her homeland. Not long after he gave them the gifts did another Westerosi man approached. The man looked young, no older than ten-and-nine, with the shadow of a beard on his face and short hair. Daenerys noticed that he had two swords on his sides.

The man bowed down and introduced himself, "Khaleesi, your grace. My name is Garrett Penrose. I'm the nephew of Courtnay Penrose, castellan to Storm's End."

Viserys frowned, "Storm's End? Isn't that the usurper's castle?"

Garrett almost corrected him by telling him the brother of the 'usurper' owns the castle, but stopped himself. He instead decided nod, "It is. But he is what he is. A usurper. I serve only the true king. Viserys Targaryen, the last dragon."

Viserys seemed very pleased at the title as he smiled, "Seems like someone hasn't lost their sense. The usurper is losing more and more men."

Garrett simply nodded before he drew the sword on the right side of his waist and held it up as he still bowed. Viserys stood up before slowly walking down to his new soldier. He took the steel slowly from Garrett's hands before inspecting it. He slowly moved his finger to the edge. Garrett quickly stood up, "I wouldn't do that. The blade is no Valyrian steel but it is stronger and sharper than most."

Viserys stared at him before he slowly nodded. He walked back to his seat, not thanking Garrett for the gift. Garrett stood up before walking over to Daenerys. His hand reached behind himself as he pulled out a book. He held it in front of Dany, "This book contains records of every single known dragon. From their birth, to their deeds and finally, their death."

Daenerys looked at him before accepting the book, "Thank you, Ser."

Garrett nodded with a friendly smile before stepping back and walking to the midst of the crowd. The dothraki danced and fucked, while a few even fought to the death over something as mundane as walking into each other. Garrett simply looked on with a neutral expression on his face as he pretended not to notice the dothraki pointing at him as he spoke to his friend in an aggressive tone, no doubt insulting Garrett. The dothraki walked behind him before attempting to push Garrett into the clearing where the dothraki had made room to spectate fights. The dothraki was surprised when Garrett swiftly turned around and grabbed his arms before throwing him into the clearing in his stead.

The stormlander drew his blade before surprising everyone when he spoke the dothraki tongue, " _I do not have the patience for this! Back off!_ " The dothraki's expression displayed rage at the humiliation of when he was thrown. He suddenly drew his arakh before swinging at the summer boy. Garrett simply sidestepped behind the bronze skinned savage before he lifted his blade and brought it down on his neck, severing the head and the braid.

The crowd stared at him in surprise, while Garrett picked the head up and threw it to the dothraki's friend before walking back to his previous place, ignoring the stares he received.

Including the one from Daenerys.

 **Present**

Lyonel continued, "Baelish is the worst of them all."

Eddard seemed truly shocked, "My wife had told me Baelish is a friend of hers, and that he is trustworthy."

"Your wife only _thinks_ he is trustworthy. For she cannot know what is not true. The truth, lord Stark, is that Baelish lusts after your wife, he is loyal only to himself and his needs, needs which happen to include Lady Catelyn." Eddard's shock only grew. "Remember what I said during the first meeting?"

Eddard nodded, "You said: "Not nearly as much as you had mentioned her." Is it true?"

Lyonel nodded, "He has spread lies in court that he had been the one to take Lady Catelyn and Lysa Tully's maidenheads."

Eddard's expression turned to fury. Lyonel stopped him from storming out of the room by grabbing the lord by his shoulders, "This is King's Landing, Lord Stark! You cannot let anyone know that you know, no matter the subject. Let Baelish think you foolishly trusting, swallow your honor and pride and pretend you heard nothing. And revenge will be yours."

Eddard stared at him, seeming conflicted. He realized the hatred he was feeling for Baelish was almost as strong as his pride and sense of honor. He nodded as he looked at Lyonel, "As you wish, my prince. But this deception is as far as I go. I will not be bewitched by lies and poison words at court."

Lyonel nodded as he released the man's shoulders. When Eddard opened the door, he startled a maid that was suspiciously close to the door. Eddard didn't notice as he simply apologized before walking off. Lyonel leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed and waited until Eddard had disappeared. The maid approached him, "Are you in need of anything, my prince?"

Lyonel's eyes shifted to her. Her long, black, curly hair was draped across her back and was brushed aside in the front to reveal the cleavage of her full breasts. Her eyes were green like fresh apples, with high, sharp cheekbones. She was beautiful. Lyonel stared at her before he smirked roguishly. He stood straight before his right hand gently caressed her cheek, "I have many needs."

The woman blushed, unknowingly beguiled, yet tried to hide it as she cracked a sultry smirk, "Any I can attend to?"

Lyonel stared into her green eyes, "I can think of a few." Her hands slowly made their way up to his cheeks as she stared into his eyes. Lyonel gently pushed her up against the wall, prompting her to gasp lightly as their foreheads touched. Lyonel's lips made their way to her neck as he gently kissed her. His warm breath left a trail of fire on her neck as her breasts heaved. Lyonel gripped her wrists gently before pushing her arms against the wall. Her guard was down… good.

Lyonel suddenly pulled back before slamming his hand on her throat and gripped it tightly. Her eyes widened as she grabbed his hand, trying in vain to pry his iron grip, her breathing struggled. His eyes glared into her soul before he dragged her into a room, not too far away.

He dragged her into the room and threw her onto a chair. There were two other occupants in the room, but thankfully they belonged to Lyonel as spies. Their eyes widened in surprise before one of them quickly closed the door behind them. The maid breathed heavily in panic as her breasts heaved up and down. Lyonel glared at her. He had been using the water in his room as a reflection to work on a smirk that could be considered 'attractive' or 'seductive' in order for him to seduce spies working for others. Lyonel thought it a ridiculous and humiliating thing to work on, yet he believed his reason was justification enough. He had also seen in brothels how to 'properly' kiss and arouse, among… other things. He used these observations to his advantage, yet went no further than simply kissing and arousing. The more… intimate things were spared only for the woman Lyonel would marry. His mind went to Arya, before he decimated the thought in his head before it went any further.

He stared at the maid in front of him. She had been following him ever since he left Arya's room after comforting her. She had also been foolish enough to think he would not notice.

Lyonel ripped off a piece of her dress, causing her to let out a short scream, before he tied her hands behind the chair. He crouched down to her level before unsheathing his knife and bringing it to her throat. The woman closed her eyes in fear. She opened them before looking at Lyonel, "What are you going to do to me?"

Lyonel stared at her, "Good question. Although, I suspect you have some ideas as to what I might do. I might beat you…" Her eyes widened. "…or perhaps rape would be a better option." He dragged the blade from her throat and down between her cleavage. "More fun for me _and_ you get to satisfy my needs. It's what you wanted, is it not, to feel me inside of you? I could be gentle if you wish it… or I could make it the most painful experience you ever had. Of course, you might enjoy pain. I could even have these two men join me." The two men behind her smirked, knowing what their leader was trying to do. "It's your choice, really…" Her breath quickened in fear as she closed her eyes. Tears fell slowly from her eyes.

"Please… I beg of you, I'll tell you any-" Her sentence was cut short by a sob. "… I'll tell you anything… just don't hurt me, please, my prince."

Lyonel had to admit, the rumors of his ruthlessness and brutality did have its advantages. In truth, he would never rape anyone, or have anyone raped for that matter. As ruthless as he was, he was disgusted by the act. To do something so heinous and hateful simply to satisfy your wicked needs, and masking it as a method of interrogation... it was repulsive. If Lyonel was to harm anyone in any way, he would at least be decent enough to be honest about the reason. Unless it would put him at a disadvantage.

His hand went to her chin as he forced her to look at him. "Who do you work for?"

"Baelish!" She blurted out swiftly. Lyonel stared at her, looking for any sign of deception, yet found none. Seems she was really desperate or very afraid of Lyonel. He suspected it was a bit of both.

Lyonel nodded slowly, "…Very good." He stared into her eyes before he began to slowly lift the blade from her chest… or so she thought. In truth, he pointed the tip directly at her chest before pushing the blade into her heart with ease. Her silent yet pained gasp silenced the room as her eyes widened. She stared at Lyonel, wanting to ask why, yet she found herself unable to form words. A small stream of blood poured from her chest wound and ruined her dress. Lyonel stared into her eyes, his own not wavering for a second, until her mouth closed slowly, along with her eyes. He slipped the blade out before wiping the blood on the shoulder of her dress. He sheathed it before standing up straight and looking at his men, "Dump the body."

One of the men sighed, "It won't be easy, but… we'll try, my prince."

Lyonel stared at the two before responding, "Take her body down to the sewers. The guards along the path work for me." He pulled out a small rectangular wooden plate with his mark carved on it. The mark displayed the back of a black gauntlet with red outlines. The back of the hand had the yellow stag of Baratheon. "Show it to the guards, they will know I sent you. Once you are finished, bring the mark back to me."

The two men nodded in gratitude for making their objective much easier. Lyonel did not respond as he turned around and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Lyonel heard Lord Stark speaking to Arya as he made his way to Jon's room. "Cats?" Eddard's confused voice said. Eddard continued, as Arya didn't answer, "Syrio says. Lyonel made himself known as he walked around the corner and saw Arya standing next to Jon at the top of the stairway. Eddard stood at the bottom as he looked at them.

"Who's Syrio?" Lyonel asked, slightly startling Eddard.

"My dancing master," Arya responded.

Lyonel turned to look at Jon for explanation. Jon realized how odd it sounded when Arya put it that way, "She means the Braavosi water dance."

Lyonel nodded in realization. Arya turned to look at her father, "Can Bran live with us now that he's woken up?"

Before Eddard could answer, the prince turned to look at him with a surprised expression, "Brandon's awake?" Eddard nodded. Lyonel had a look of relief as he whispered, "Thank the old gods."

"Can he still be a part of the kingsguard?" Arya asks.

Jon answered instead of Lyonel, "He can, thanks to the prince."

"I'll put in a good word for him." The prince turned to look at Jon, "You just make sure he trains well." Jon nodded in response.

Arya looked at her betrothed in excitement, "Will you be jousting tomorrow?"

He nodded curtly. Jon smirks at his younger sister, "Why? Planning on giving him your favor?"

Lyonel hid a playful smirk as he watched Arya's angry expression. He knew she had something planned, judging by her sudden change in expression. Her face turned mischievous, "You mean like Princess Myrcella gave you her favor?"

Jon blushed as regret crossed his eyes. He turned to look at Lyonel, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression. The tension dissipated as Lyonel spoke, "If she gave you her favor, you had damn better make sure you win, or fight with everything you got trying."

Jon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in as he nodded, "I will."

 **Tourney of The Hand**

"I've been sitting here for days! Start the damned joust before I piss myself!" The king of The Iron Throne shouted drunkenly. _'Filthy pig,'_ Lyonel thought. He stared forward and quietly. His mother stood up, disgusted, before she walked past The Hound, whose burns seemed fresher and more recent. His right eye was milky white as he had been blinded by Lyonel when the prince shoved his face into the burning torch. Beside him stood Jon, who Lyonel had purposefully placed next to Myrcella, separating the two siblings. Lyonel heard Sansa's voice.

"Who's that?" She pointed at the giant of a man on horseback.

Baelish answered for her. Arya had been ignoring him when Lyonel told her of his feelings towards her mother. She sat next to Sansa and tried to ignore his voice, and the ever increasing urge to pull out needle and poke his eye out, "Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain. The Hound's older brother."

Lyonel already knew who it was. _'If I see even the smallest excuse to murder him, I will take it.'_

The prince had jousted against Andar Royce and several other knights before. And he had unhorsed them all. Tomorrow, he would go up against the winner of that day's first joust.

He was broken out of his thoughts by Sansa once again, "And his opponent?"

And once again, Littlefinger answered, "Ser Hugh of The Vale. He was Jon Arryn's squire. Look how far he's come."

The two 'knights' bowed to their drunk king before riding to their respective sides of the field. During the first ride, they both missed their target as the crowd gasped. They soon turned their horses around and rode once more. The crowd looked on as excitement rose the closer the two got. The excitement was replaced with horror when The Mountain's lance splintered against Ser Hugh's throat. The boy fell from his horse with wood sticking out of his throat while coughing out blood. Sansa screamed loudly as almost everyone stood up. Myrcella swiftly looked away and closed her eyes as Jon crouched down and hugged her to his shoulder. Lyonel stared at the dying valeman with a blank face.

An eerie silence fell over the entire tourney as only the sound of Ser Hugh choking on his own blood was heard. Lyonel stood up before making his way down to the edge of the stand. He vaulted over the fence and landed right next to Ser Hugh. He landed right in his blood puddle as it splattered all over the dying boy. Lyonel stared at him before crouching down, ignoring his now-ruined pants as blood seeped into the fabric, and pulling out his knife. Ser Hugh looked at him and nodded slowly. The prince slowly lifted the boy's head to his chest, covering his eyes, before he quickly slipped the blade into the back of his skull, taking care not to push it in too far. The choking stopped immediately as Lyonel held his head to his chest before pulling the blade out. He placed the knight's head on the ground gently. Lyonel stood up, ignoring all the stares he received, before looking down at his ruined clothes. He turned around slowly to look at Arya, who stared at him in shock. There was the slightest hint of admiration in her eyes. She looked down at the corpse as it was about to be dragged away by two men. How could they be so disrespectful?

Lyonel saw the look in her eyes and put his hand on the shoulder of one of the men. He didn't care about Ser Hugh's corpse. But Arya did, it seemed. He shook his head, "Treat it with respect." The man shrugged, not knowing what he meant. Lyonel sighed silently to himself as he leaned down. He slid his arms under Ser Hugh's back and legs before lifting the limp body. His clothes were already ruined, so he couldn't care less. He carried the body off to the silent sisters, all while ignoring the stares he received from the crowd.

 **Next Day**

He sat in the exact same seat as yesterday. This time, he wore his thick plate armor, with his antlered helmet on his lap. The antlers belonged to the very same stag he had killed on his Baratheon Hunt. He'd requested the antlers be sent to him when he had fashioned the helmet at his forge. He looked at where Arya sat yesterday, next to her sister. Yet she was absent. Arya had told Lyonel she would rather train with Syrio than to be watching the tourney again after what had happened.

Lyonel was broken out of his thoughts by Tommen, who sat to his left, "Can I wear that, brother?" Tommen pointed at the helmet on Lyonel's lap.

He turned to look at his younger brother before smiling, "Of course."

He lifted the helmet before lowering it slowly on his little brother's head. "It's a bit heavy on my head. And I can't see anything." Myrcella giggled as Lyonel chuckled at Tommen. Tommen turned his head quickly to try and see as the helmet's eyeholes did not match the level of Tommen's own eyes, yet the helmet stayed still, staring forward. It looked rather amusing until Lyonel decided to take the helmet off.

They all missed the look of hatred and envy from Joffrey.

Lyonel looked forward to watch the ongoing joust between Jon Snow and Jason Mallister. Jon had Myrcella's favor tucked in the neck of his plate armor he had received from Lyonel who bought it with his own coin. The first tilt resulted in Jon's lance splintering on Jason Mallister's shield while dodging his opponent's lance. The second tilt was a close hit for both, yet they both missed the same. Jason Mallister was finally unhorsed on the third tilt as the crowd gasped when Jon's lance struck his head. Jon swiftly turned his horse around and rode next to Jason's laying form before dismounting. Everyone was relieved when Jason took his helmet off to reveal himself unharmed. Jon held out his hand, to which Jason accepted as he lifted himself up.

The next joust immediately resulted in the downfall of Jon as he was unhorsed when Lyonel's lance shattered against his chest. Lyonel, himself, was struck in the chest, yet his strength and thick plated armor helped him. It seemed Jon was not as resilient.

Half an hour later and Lyonel was seated once again next to his siblings, absent armor. He wore his normal tunic and trouser as his next joust wasn't until tomorrow. The prince was to face the winner of the joust they were currently spectating. The joust before that was between Jaime Lannister and Loras Tyrell of Highgarden. Jaime was unhorsed by the young knight and was to face The Mountain That Rides.

Ser Loras rode up to Sansa before handing her a blood red rose. His white shining armor gleamed as it was struck by sunlight. The intricate carvings on his armor depicted roses and thorns.

"Thank you, Ser Loras," Sansa said shyly. Loras nodded with a smile. Lyonel did not miss the glances his uncle Renly and Loras would send each other. He was no fool. He knew the two were lovers. It was Loras who whispered into Renly's ears. Loras rode off and stopped before the king's platform. He bowed dramatically atop his silver white mare. Lyonel noticed as the Ser Loras and Ser Gregor rode off, that The Mountain's horse seemed crazed and uncontrollable. The moment Lyonel spotted Loras' smirk, he knew the Knight of Highgarden was riding a mare in heat.

When the two finally arrived at their respective sides, Sansa spoke to her father with a concerned voice, "Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," as she put her hands on his arm.

Eddard turned to look at her as he put his own hand on top of hers comfortingly, "Hey."

"I can't watch." Lyonel felt dumbfounded. One moment she acted as if she was in love with Joffrey, and the next she acts as if Ser Loras was the love of her life. Was she truly so easily swayed by a simple rose? All women couldn't be like this, could they? No, of course not. Arya was living proof of that.

"A hundred gold dragons on The Mountain," Littlefinger offered, waiting for someone to accept.

Renly was the one who responded, "I'll take that bet."

"Now, what shall I do with a hundred gold dragons, hm? A dozen barrels of dornish wine? Or perhaps a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?"

Renly opened his mouth to retort, "You could even buy a friend." Lyonel resisted the urge to burst out laughing, while most people on the stand did.

A squire sounded the trumpets as the two knights spurred their horses, the crowd cheering in the background.

They rode closer and closer until finally Ser Loras' lance shattered and splintered against The Mountain, unhorsing him. Ser Gregor broke the fence separating the two different lanes when he fell on it. The crowd cheered and Renly stood up, laughing at his victory on the wager from Littlefinger, "Such a shame, Littlefinger! Would've been so nice for you to have a friend!"

Baelish turned around to look at Renly, "And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having your _friend_?" He motioned his hand towards Loras.

The Knight of Flowers rode towards the king's platform as the crowd cheered. When he arrived, Gregor stood up with a furious expression before shouting, "Sword!"

Lyonel stood up swiftly, almost knocking the chair back as Jon looked at him, "What's wrong?"

Gregor's squire brought out a giant sword and held it out. Gregor unsheathed it before he lifted the massive blade and brought it down on his horse's neck, severing its head. The crowd gasped in shock. Loras turned around and was knocked off his horse when he blocked the strike from The Mountain. Lyonel rushed as between the seats of the stand. Just as Gregor was about to bring down his sword on Loras with the intent of murder, Lyonel planted his feet on the fence before leaping at Gregor with his fist pulled back. He slammed his knuckles on Gregor's face, staggering the giant of a man, before he landed on the ground and rolled gracefully. He quickly stood up and turned around with his fists held up. Lyonel may be an average swordsman, but his hand-to-hand skills were another story.

He ducked under the swing of Gregor's blade before upper-cutting him and grabbing the sword's guards. Lyonel saw an opportunity when Gregor was dazed as he swiftly and roughly pulled the sword out of his hand before throwing it away. Lyonel fell on his back when Gregor kicked him in the back of his feet. Lyonel rolled away from a stomp before pulling out his blade and stabbing Gregor's kneecap and twisting it, disabling his leg. Gregor shouted in pain as he fell to the ground next to Lyonel. Lyonel pulled the blade out but The Mountain's hand gripped his back and pulled him off the ground and slammed him against Gregor's other side. Lyonel was given no time to react as the Mountain slammed his own fist into Lyonel abdomen. Lyonel groaned out in pain, before recovering with surprising speed. He pulled out the knife before grabbing The Mountain's arm and stabbing him in the armpit, disabling it.

The giant of a man screamed out before Lyonel suddenly straddled him and lifted his fist. He began to brutally beat Ser Gregor, giving him no time to recover as his powerful punches dazed and staggered him every time.

Lyonel's father shouted out loudly, "ENOUGH OF THIS!"

Lyonel stopped his fist mid-air before standing up and turning to look at his father. He stared into the king's eyes before slowly shaking his head, "No."

Lyonel suddenly planted his foot against Gregor's head. The defeated knight tried to lift his head, but once again found Lyonel's foot being brought down on his head. Lyonel stomped once again, finally knocking him out, before stomping again, and again. Before long, Lyonel had gripped the fence in the middle of the field as leverage and started stomping furiously at Gregor's head as the sound of his skull cracking and smashing filled the air. Everyone stared at Lyonel's brutality in shock. He kept slamming his feet on Gregor's head as his panted furiously. Lyonel stomped one final time, and Gregor's skull was crushed into a bloody pulp as blood and brains splattered the ground.

The silence was deafening as Lyonel let go of the fence. He turned around slowly, and looked at where Sansa was seated. She had a shocked and frightened expression. Lyonel was so glad Arya wasn't here to see him like this. He wouldn't be able to bear the look of fear in her eyes. Lyonel's eyes slowly wandered up to where his siblings sat. He ignored Jon as he saw Myrcella and Tommen's shocked expressions. Lyonel realized what he had done. It wasn't the fact that he murdered someone that filled him with shame. It was the fact that Myrcella and Tommen saw him doing it.

Lyonel looked away in shame. He turned to walk away from the field, and didn't look back.


	5. Comfort and Reassurance

Lyonel was in his room, pacing nervously and furiously, back and forth. He was breathing heavily as the sound of Gregor Clegane's remains under Lyonel's boot squished. _'Why the fuck did I do that!? What will Tommen and Myrcella think of me now? Oh gods, what if Arya hears about this?'_ Lyonel sighs. _'The Weir wood tree might clear my mind.'_ Suddenly a knock could be heard on his door. He could hear his mother shouting, "Lyonel! Open the door!" Lyonel quickly walks over to the door before opening it. He could see Cersei's concerned face and the look of relief when she saw him. She suddenly hugs him tightly. _'What's going on? She wasn't at the tourney.'_ "Mother, what's wrong?" Lyonel asks.

Cersei pulls away and looks into Lyonel's eyes, "I saw the trail of blood following into your room. I thought someone had hurt you!" Cersei suddenly starts to look suspicious as she looks down and sees Lyonel's bloody boot. Her eyes widen in shock. "Gregor Clegane's skull" Lyonel explains calmly. Cersei looks up at him in surprise before hugging him again, surprising Lyonel, "I'd rather have Gregor's skull under your boot than your skull under his." Lyonel could not help but be touched by this. His mother finally started showing him affection after all this time. Lyonel would have suspected that she might have been trying to manipulate him but his mother would be nothing if not caring for Lyonel and his siblings. If he got only a single moment of love from his mother, he would be content. Lyonel felt tears fall down his cheek and fall onto Cersei's shoulder.

Cersei felt something warm run down her shoulder and pulled away to see that Lyonel was crying. Cersei was shocked. What could it have been that made Lyonel, the Silent Storm, cry?

"Honey, what's wrong?" Cersei asks

Lyonel looks into her eyes, "Everyone saw me stomping Gregor's skull. I didn't stop until his skull was completely crushed. Myrcella and Tommen saw me. I worry that they will have the same look of fear in their eyes. The same everyone else has when they see me."

Cersei's heart broke at seeing her son cry like this. She spoke in a soft and comforting voice, "You're their big brother, and you love them. Who was it that was there every time Myrcella needed help with her sewing? You were there. You didn't care what others would think if they saw the second born prince sewing. You were there and learned along with her. Who was it that helped Tommen with his sword training when Jaime or Ser Barristan could not? It was you. You've protected them, their entire life. You've been there and comforted them every single time they needed someone. You've been there to play with them whenever they felt lonely or bored and you…" Cersei hesitated but continued, "You raised them better than Robert or I ever did."

Lyonel's tears stop flowing as he flashes a rare and small smile towards her mother and hugs her tightly, "Thank you."

Cersei smiles, "Of course, my black lion." Lyonel smiled even more at the nickname. Cersei pulled back and wiped the tears off his cheek before she leaned in and gave Lyonel a kiss on the cheek and walked out of the room. Lyonel closed the door behind her. Lyonel sighs before he suddenly heard a cry, echoing throughout the sky. It clearly wasn't human. Lyonel turned around to see an eagle fly into his room through the window. Lyonel quickly holds up his arm and the eagle lands on it. Lyonel sees the scroll around the eagle's feet. Lyonel takes the scroll and starts to read it.

 _Lyonel_

 _We're riding to Vaes Dothrak with Targaryen. I gained Viserys and Daenerys' trust. Viserys is mad, it's not possible to sway him. Daenerys is another story._

 _I will send another letter soon._

 _Your loyal friend_

 _Garrett Penrose_

Lyonel was pleased by the news. Garrett had become quick friends with Lyonel when they met. Lyonel did not know why but there was something about Garrett that made him likeable. Garrett had followed Lyonel to King's Landing and there they had become as close as brothers. Lyonel had trusted Garrett with the task to act as a spy in the Targaryen's midst where he would try to make peace between the Baratheons and Targaryens. Lyonel wanted to avoid another war and if they were to plan an invasion, Garrett was willing to sacrifice himself and kill Viserys. Lyonel had not been keen on the idea of sacrificing his brother in all but blood and name. Lyonel put the small scroll on the candle's small fire and watched it burn. Lyonel had used an eagle as using a crow would result in Pycelle receiving the letter and telling his mother and grandfather.

Lyonel had the eagle wait in his room while he put on new boots and went out to get some fish meat from the kitchen. Lyonel did not suspect that spying on the Targaryens would involve him stealing fish from the kitchens. Lyonel entered his room and quickly closed the door behind him. He gave the eagle some fish before letting it stay in his room until he could send back a response. Lyonel sighed as he sat down on the chair and closed his eyes. He almost fell asleep until he heard a knock on his door. Lyonel's eyes snapped open and quickly gazed at the door. Lyonel sighed as he got up and opened the door. Arya was revealed to be waiting. Lyonel quickly looked into her eyes and begged to the old gods that he wouldn't see fear. Lyonel was relieved to see that she had a look of concern on her face and eyes.

"Are you alright?" Arya asks

Lyonel nods, "I am. Why do you ask?"

"I heard about what happened at the tourney. I was worried when I heard that you walked away. I wanted to check on you."

Lyonel smiles, "I'm alright. I was worried that you would start to fear me because of what I did."

Arya shook her head, "Gregor deserved what he got, after what he did to princess Elia and Aegon." After a moment of silence, she asks "Were you really concerned that I would fear you."

Lyonel nods, "I was afraid that Tommen and Myrcella would do the same, also."

Arya looked confused, "Why? They already knew what you did to that criminal that you killed when you were three and ten."

"But they had not seen me do it" Lyonel pointed out. Arya said nothing as she looked at the ground. Lyonel sighed before saying "I have to talk to them." Arya got out of the way as Lyonel closed the door and walked past her and made his way to Myrcella's quarters. Lyonel knocked on her door and waited patiently. "Who is it?" Lyonel could hear her call out. Lyonel hesitated, "It's… it's me, Lyonel."

After a long moment of waiting, he finally heard "Come in." Lyonel opened the door before walking in and closing the door behind him. Myrcella was sitting on her bed and looking at Lyonel. He walked over and sat next to her. He sighed before speaking, "I'm sorry that you had to see me like that." Myrcella stared at the ground before asking, "Why did you do it?"

Lyonel was quiet for a moment, "I was angry. I always hated Gregor for what he did to Elia Martell and baby Aegon. I hated father for allowing him to live. I won't pretend and say that I did it to protect Loras or to avenge Ser Hugh. I did it because of my hatred of Gregor."

To Lyonel's surprise, Myrcella looked at him and smiled, "I'm glad you're being honest with me. Mother told me that you cried because you thought that I and Tommen would be afraid of you. We were just shocked because we never saw you like that before. But don't worry. You're still my brother." Lyonel smiled and hugged Myrcella before muttering, "Thank you."

Myrcella pulled back and said "You should talk to Tommen. He's also worried about you." Lyonel nods before walking out of her room. He makes his way towards Tommen's room until he is stopped by Joffrey and the Hound.

"Look what we have here, dog." Joffrey says in a mocking voice. Sandor glares at Lyonel with his one eye.

Lyonel didn't bother with them as he walked past Joffrey. The Hound suddenly put his hand on Lyonel's shoulder. Lyonel slowly turned his head to look at Sandor's burnt face. "The crown prince is speaking to you" Sandor spoke in barely restrained anger.

Lyonel had no expression on his face as he answered, "Don't think I've forgotten how you were screaming when I pushed your face into the torch. You were scared like a little boy."

Sandor's face morphs slowly into one of anger. Lyonel continues, "What's wrong? Did I bring back old memories?"

That was the final straw for Sandor as he pulled his hand back and curled it into a fist. Lyonel's fist shot out like a blur and knocked Sandor out immediately, making him fall back on the ground. Joffrey was shocked by the anti-climactic outcome. Lyonel paid Joffrey no mind as he kept walking towards Tommen's room.

Lyonel finally arrived at Tommen's room. He knocked on the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Lyonel."

Lyonel heard nothing for a while. The door suddenly opens as Tommen looks at Lyonel with concerned eyes. "Are you alright, brother?" Lyonel looked surprised before smiling at Tommen. _'Always thinking of others first.'_

"I'm alright"

Tommen suddenly hugs Lyonel's leg, "I was worried about you!" Lyonel smiled but had a confused expression on his face, "Why? It was the Mountain that died." Tommen nods and pulls away, "But you looked sad when you walked away."

Lyonel was looked away before answering, "That's because I thought you were going to be afraid of me."

Tommen looked up at him, "I could never be afraid of you."

Lyonel turns towards Tommen and smiles, "I'm glad to hear that."

* * *

 **Khalasar of Drogo**

"Have you ever seen a dragon?" Daenerys Targaryen asks her handmaidens as they bandaged her hands. Daenerys was looking at the three dragon eggs that Illyrio Mopatis had given her as a wedding gift. Jhiqui answered, "Dragon gone, khaleesi."

Daenerys raised her eyebrows, "Everywhere? Even in the east?"

"No dragon. Brave men kill them. It is known"

Doreah, a former bed warmer from a pleasure house of Lys, spoke, "A trader from Qarth told me that dragons came from the moon." Daenerys looked at her, "The book that Ser Garrett gave me said that Dragons were born from the Fourteen Flames. The Fourteen Flames was a chain of volcanoes that extended across the neck of old Valyria's peninsula."

Daenerys looked at her handmaidens, "What do you think of Ser Garrett."

Jhiqui looks at Daenerys before smiling, "I think he is sweet."

Daenerys raised her eyebrows, "Sweet? He cut off a dothraki's head in one second on my wedding day."

Doreah spoke next, "Yet he did not start the fight. He warned the man to stop." She smirks roguishly, "He's also very handsome."

Jhiqui continued, "Very kind and strong."

Daenerys turned towards Jhiqui in confusion, "He is very kind. But he seems a bit reclusive."

Jhiqui nodded before speaking in a broken version of the common tongue, "He helps a lot of slaves when they are exhausted and dothraki try to whip them. He is loved by the children."

Doreah chuckled, "He spends more time with children than he does adults."

Daenerys turned her head towards the dragon eggs again. Yet her mind wandered to her previous interaction with the knight.

 **Before**

 _Daenerys was watching her husband's khalasar ride towards Vaes Dothrak. She was so deep in thought that she did not notice Ser Garrett ride up next to her._

" _How are you?"_

 _Daenerys is broken out of her musing and turns to Ser Garrett in surprise, "Ser Garrett. Forgive me; I did not see you there."_

 _Garrett raised his hand, "Don't apologize… and no formalities." Garrett's friend Lyonel had said so often when they first met. Garrett had to remind himself to not call Lyonel by his title. Daenerys nodded and turned back to stare at the khalasar._

 _They were both silent for a moment until Garrett broke the silence by asking "How are you?"_

 _Daenerys was quiet. Garrett looked at her with sympathetic eyes, "It'll get easier" he reassures._

" _How do you know?" she asks in a quiet voice_

 _Garrett was silent for a moment before answering, "If it doesn't, I'll have a little chat with our dear Khal."_

 _Daenerys turned towards him in surprise, "I would rather you not risk yourself for me."_

 _Garrett smiled, "I would do this for anyone who deserves it. You count among those who do."_

 _Daenerys nodded in gratitude. "You do not speak to a lot of people here. You should have a lot in common with Ser Jorah, yet you barely speak to him."_

 _Garrett didn't stop smiling, "You were born in Westeros, just like the usurper. Does that mean you have a lot in common?" Daenerys shook her head. Garrett continued, "He was banished from the North by Eddard Stark. Do you know why?"_

 _Daenerys shook her head again. "He was banished for dealing in the abolished business of slavery." Daenerys eyes widened in surprise._

" _Ser Jorah's father is a man of honor, but Jorah himself is not." Garrett sighed, "But I guess I can't blame the man for loving his wife so much."_

 _Daenerys looked confused, "He did it for his wife?"_

" _So I've heard."_

 _A comfortable silence fell over them until it was finally broken by Garrett, "I once had a friend. He was very quiet. He always had an expressionless face, and a silent tongue. He was known for being very strong and many others, who met him, feared him. He was known for being quiet but whenever he was violent, it was as if he was half beast himself. He lost himself in anger and hatred, and for that he was feared."_

" _Why were you friends with him?"_

 _Garrett sighed, "Because I discovered, that my friend had built a wall around himself. He became reclusive and quiet, only speaking to those closest to him. Behind that wall that he put up, was a good, compassionate man who was rejected by most people he met because of prejudice of stranger because of some false rumor. These rumors are what made my friend portray himself as a heartless monster on the outside."_

 _Daenerys was thoughtful for a while. She finally asked "Why are you telling me this, Ser Garrett?"_

 _Garrett looks her straight in the eyes, "Every man has a good side and a bad side. It is the environment around the man that chooses who he will portray himself and who he will truly be. Khal Drogo is a ruthless murderer on the outside, but now that you are his wife, you may be the first to see the good side of him."_

" _How will I do that?"_

" _By getting to know him, seduce him if you must. It was thanks to my friend that I now believe all men have a good side in them. One just needs the right person to bring it out. My friend's good side was mostly brought out by his siblings."_

 _Daenerys turned her head and stared off, contemplating what Garrett told her._

" _Come now, Khaleesi. I tire of musing. We must ride."_

 _Daenerys turned towards him. "No formalities" She parroted, making Garrett grin, "As my Khaleesi demands." Daenerys giggles before starting to ride along with her khalasar._

* * *

 **With Lyonel**

Lyonel had thought that he was to joust once again in the tourney. As it turned out, once Loras had gotten over his shock of seeing Lyonel stomp Gregor's skull, he conceded the next joust to Lyonel. But there was no cheering of the crowd, no crown of flowers for Lyonel to give to his queen of love and beauty, only the winner's purse. Lyonel kept his promise to Lord Stark and gave half of the winner's purse to the crown's treasury. The rest had been spent on new materials for Lyonel to smith weapons and armor out of. The majority of the winnings had gone to the orphanage, who had accepted the gold dragons with gratitude. Lyonel knew that some people would see this as an attempt to win the people over after what he did to Gregor. He already won most people over by killing a man who had raped and murdered his way through farms and villages, but some were still skeptical.

Several days later, Lyonel was walking in the streets of Flea's Bottom. He could see that some buildings were under constructions. Lyonel had ordered the construction workers to build a public canteen and housings for the poor and sick. This had been going on for quite some time now and the canteens and housings were almost finished. After Lyonel was finished inspecting the progress, he made his way to the Red Keep.

Lyonel was walking towards his room and saw Jon pacing nervously in front of his door. "What's wrong?" Lyonel asks in a calm voice.

Jon turns around, surprised, "Lyonel, Lady Stark has kidnapped your uncle Tyrion!"

Lyonel had a shocked expression on his face, "What do you mean?"

"Lady Catelyn thinks that it was Tyrion that sent the assassin to kill Bran."

Lyonel was forced to feign surprise a few days ago when he had been told by Arya that Bran was almost killed by an assassin. His contacts had already noticed him long before she told him.

"I understand if you're angry at Lady Stark but tension will rise if we don't do anything. We need to order Lady Stark to release your uncle before the tension snaps." Lyonel nodded slowly, "You're right. We must find Lord Stark immediately. He is in danger."

Lyonel quickly turned around and started looking for Lord Stark with his sworn shield following him. Lyonel asked around court if they knew where Lord Stark was. Lyonel was approached by Varys, "My prince, Lord Stark is no longer Hand of the King. He quit his office after some dispute in the small council."

Lyonel spoke in a rough and dangerous voice, "What dispute? Where is Lord Stark?"

"Lord Stark was rather cross with King Roberts plan to assassinate Daenerys Targaryen, but his grace was not convinced by Lord Stark's argument and had ordered her death. Lord Stark would have no part of it. I heard that he is in Baelish's brothel. Apparently, Baelish found something that might interest Eddard."

"Why was I not at the meeting?"

"Your father knew that you would refuse to use such means to kill a child."

"And Lord Stark wouldn't!?"

Lyonel did not stay for another second as he made his way to Baelish's brothel. Lyonel knew exactly where it was as he usually found Tyrion there whenever he looked for him.

As Lyonel turned a corner, a small figure ran into his leg and fell backwards. Lyonel looks down to see a panicked Arya. "Lyonel, Your uncle Jaime is attacking my father! My mother kidnapped Tyrion and now the kingslayer wants revenge!"

Lyonel said nothing as he rushed. Lyonel ran through the streets until he arrived to see Jaime walking towards Jory, with the intention of killing him. Lyonel did not allow the fight to even start as he charged at Jaime who was bringing his blade down to try and wound Jory. Lyonel jumped at Jaime, knocking him down. He quickly grabbed Jaime's sword hand and knocked it against the ground until he dropped the sword. Lyonel raised his fist and struck Jaime in the jaw, hard.

Lyonel stood up and turned to the Stark men and Lannister men, "Enough! Sheath your blade before I sheath them in your guts!"

The soldiers' didn't hesitate as they quickly hid their blades in their sheaths. Lyonel turned to look at Jaime who was groaning and holding his jaw. He pulled his uncle up by the neck of his armor, "What the fuck are you doing!?"

Jaime glared at Eddard's direction, "He ordered his wife to kidnap Tyrio-"

"Of course he didn't, you idiot! He's far too honorable. He was just trying to protect his wife, you bloody dolt! I already ordered the release of Tyrion, but the chance of that happening has now decreased because of your foolishness!" Lyonel pushed Jaime back. "Go" he ordered his uncle.

Lyonel turned around to look at Jory, "Are you wounded?"

Jory shook his head, "I'm fine, my prince. Thank you."

Lyonel nodded before looking at Eddard, "We must speak to my father."

"Why did you let the kingslayer escape?"

"Don't argue" Lyonel ordered angrily. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, "Forgive me, my lord. But my father must be made aware of the situation."

Eddard sighs before nodding, "Of course, my prince."

Lyonel started walking back to the Red Keep with Arya, Jon and Lord Stark and his men. _'I must warn Garrett and tell him to stop the assassin."_ Lyonel notices Arya running up to his side. "Thank you for saving Jory and my father" She thanks while still walking. Lyonel looks at her with an expressionless face, "Don't mention it."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I had to cram HARDCORE for a test (It paid off). I'm sorry if this Chapter seems short or not as well written as other chapters. I wrote this rather quickly to try and update the story quickly.**

 **Fluffy butt: Lord Stark is basically an infant when it comes to playing the game of thrones. Lord Stark is good at governing and ruling but sucks balls at Intrigue and most of politics. When it comes to the Mountain. Yes I closed some storylines but I may have also opened some new ones. _*cough*Martells*cough* You'll just have to wait and see what happens._**

 **lordmantis: I'll try to update that story as quickly as i can.**

 **TheCaptainz: I might edit the chapter slightly and have Lyonel wearing a leather tunic with the stag on the back and give him the Ryan Gosling Haircut. (I might have been joking about the last part.)**

 **Legend3881: Gregor's death will have meaning later on. And just in case you didn't read my first author's note, i wrote that Lyonel is a sociopath. Being unnecessarily brutal is to be expected, especially if it's a Baratheon considering their reputation for being short-tempered.**

 **Guest: I'm glad you're liking Lyonel.**

 **SPOILER BENEATH THIS TEXT**

 **So i heard that people are bitching about Sansa being raped by Ramsay. *Clears throat* Incest, Flaying Alive, Torture, Child Murder, Pregnant Woman murdered and Crushed heads? Oh that's fine. But rape? "FUCK NO, I'M BOYCOTTING NOW!"**

 ***Sniffs* Smells like feminazis. And besides. Most perverts were begging to see the sex scene with Sansa and they got one. So stop complaining you whiny, hypocritical scumbags.**

 **Anyways, now that i got that out of the way.**

 **Review and Enjoy!**

 **Edit #1: I recently read a review that pointed out how I may have referred to some of my readers as "hypocritical scumbags", and I feel as if I need to explain this:**

 **Admittedly, I could have worded my opinion a bit better, but back then (when I first wrote that Author's Note) I was rather juvenile when it came to ridiculous hypocrisy (and in all honesty, anyone who had vastly different opinions than me or had opinions I found to be ridiculous was always wrong in my eyes). I was annoyed by the nitpicking of the smallest shit that fans used to criticize the show just to jump on the bandwagon of hate instead of actually using valid arguments or simply enjoying the show. Sansa's rape was a pivotal moment in her character development, but people overreacted for a reason I still cannot fathom. Had I been more mature back then as I am now, I most likely wouldn't have called these annoying bandwagoners and/or cherrypickers "scumbags".**

 **However, I still wouldn't have sugarcoated it or pandered simply to try and avoid any form of hate. Truth is, all I saw was that people were being massive hypocrites and had their heads up their asses and they needed to pull it out. I hadn't really thought about what I wrote and how I wrote it since I just wanted to vent, and pretty much forgot about it, until I saw this particular review. I realize now that some fans may have been offended and possibly even hurt (I know I would be if an author to a story I like called me a scumbag). I won't even lie, if I was still as immature, I wouldn't have cared and would probably tell you to grow up and learn that you're way too sensitive to depictions of rape. But I'm not that person anymore, so all I will do is this:**

 **I apologize for my crude words. It was immature, but to be fair, I was around 15 or 16, perhaps even 14. But that is no excuse for this behaviour. It was wrong, and that is that. There is no excuse.**

 **Despite this, however, I still stand behind its meaning and still believe what I believed back then, and if you disagree, well... each to their own, right? I still think people should be more mature about these subjects on TV and any other form of entertainment, be it TV shows, movies, books, or comic books, and the overreaction to Sansa's rape was ridiculous and, in fact, childish. But, again, that is just my opinion.**

 **I apologize for _how_ I wrote not, but for _what_ I wrote. I still share this sentiment and that hasn't changed. I won't be deleting this old A/N, mostly because it would just be cowardly and irresponsible to act as if it never happened and ignore it. But I was raised better by my mother, and will leave my mistake for all to read. But, I also believe it will serve as a personal reminder to think before I speak and act with more tact. **

**Again, if I have offended anyone for having referred to those with that specific sentiment about Sansa's rape as "scumbags", and not because I have a different opinion, then I apologize profusely.**

 **-TheGOTAddict**


	6. Supernatural Revelations

Lyonel was in his room, writing a message to his friend across the sea, warning him of the imminent assassination attempt on Daenerys Targaryen. He hoped that it would reach him in time. His hand moved quickly as scribbling noises filled the room. Other than the sound of Lyonel writing, the room was completely calm. He had relieved Jon of his guard duty outside of Lyonel's room to go and guard Myrcella. He was no half-wit. He knew that his sister had developed a crush on Jon. If Lyonel's sworn shield was to spend some time with her, he would no doubt return the feelings. How could he not, considering Myrcella's kind and compassionate nature. Not to mention her beauty. He was glad that his sister had started to take a liking to Jon. Lyonel himself considered Jon a close friend, even if Jon didn't realize it. Unfortunately, Lyonel's mother did not harbor the same opinion of Jon. Lyonel's sworn shield would have to be more careful now.

Lyonel's mind went to his mother. As soon as Lyonel and Eddard Stark had arrived in the Red Keep, the king demanded a meeting with all of them. In short; Lord Stark had gotten his position as Hand of The King back and was to be ruling in Robert's stead while he went out hunting.

Lyonel's hand stopped before putting the feather down and holding out his arm. The eagle that delivered Garrett's message was still here and flew to Lyonel's arm. Lyonel wrapped the tiny paper around the eagle's foot before sending it back to Garrett.

Lyonel sat down on his chair before sighing softly and closing his eyes. His mind suddenly went to his betrothed. Arya had the wolf's blood in her, no doubt. She was as spirited as Lyanna Stark according to Lord Stark and Lyonel's father. His father rarely ever spoke of Lyanna. If he did, it was because he was drunk and the next day, he never remembered.

He would have to remember his surprise gift for her birthday. He had made it himself in his own personal forge that he received from his uncle Stannis for his twelfth name day. Stannis heard about Lyonel's skill and talent in smithing. So he had ordered stone masons and builders to create a personal forge for Lyonel. He made it so it was outside, but not too far away from Lyonel's room. Lyonel had no doubt that she would love her present. It was already finished, but her name day was not yet. So he spent the time left to refine and add some modifications to her present, cosmetic and practical.

Lyonel would be lying if he said that he didn't like Arya. He remembered the first day that they spent time with each other. It was during the feast at Winterfell. She said that love was stupid, which made Lyonel state that she clearly had never been in love. Lyonel couldn't say that he had been in love himself, but from what he had heard, he could tell that if he ever did, it would be the best feeling he ever had. He wasn't in love with Arya. He knew that much. But he was definitely starting to like her a lot. Spending time with her made him happy, just as much as it made her happy.

His eyes suddenly shot open as he realized that their training with Syrio was about to start. Arya would have his hide if he was late again. He quickly stood up before walking out of his room and towards their training ground with haste.

 **Jon**

Jon stood vigilant outside of the room where the princess was in. She talked to Sansa before going to her room alone. What she spoke about, Jon did not know. He notices that Myrcella seemed to be shyer around Jon and occasionally blushed whenever she saw him. He wasn't blind nor a fool. He knew that the princess had a crush on him. After all, she gave him her favor during the tourney. But he could not, for the life of him, figure out why a princess would be interested in a bastard like him. He heard the princess' voice, "Jon, could you please come in?"

Jon complied and walked into her room to see her standing in front of him, holding a piece of cloth in her hands. She looked at the ground shyly while blushing. "What is it, my princess?"

Myrcella looks at him, "I-I made something for you… something for you to hold on to." Jon stared at her in confusion.

She held out the piece of cloth to him. He took it in his hand before he inspected it. He was surprised to see that the cloth had the sigil of the Stark direwolf embroidery on it. It was very detailed and the direwolf had white fur and red eyes. Jon realized that it was meant to look like Ghost. He looked at the princess who was staring at him nervously to see if he liked it or not. "Princess, this is… It's beautiful."

Myrcella looked at him in surprise before smiling shyly, "Do you really think so?"

Jon nodded before smiling back, "Thank you for this gift. I will cherish it."

Myrcella looked overjoyed that he loved the gift she made for him. She wasn't sure if he would have liked it or not since she thought that a piece of cloth wouldn't be much of a gift. She made the direwolf from her memory of seeing it striding and vigilant at Jon's side on the journey back to King's Landing from Winterfell. At first, she had been afraid of it, but after Jon reassured her that it would not hurt her unless he wanted it to, she had stopped fearing it.

It was the first interaction she had with both Jon and Ghost.

Myrcella suddenly looked shy again before asking, "Could you… do you have time over? I could use some company." Jon looked surprised before smiling, "Of course, my princess."

Myrcella smiled back at him, "Call me Myrcella."

 **Lyonel**

Lyonel was sitting calmly on the steps to where his and Arya's training ground was at. Arya herself was currently sitting next to Lyonel, panting and sweating from the training. She was leaning against Lyonel's shoulder with her eyes closed. She looked peaceful, unlike after the first day at the tourney. Lyonel remembered it vividly; it was right after Ser Hugh had been killed in the "accident" at the tourney. They were both sitting at the exact same place.

 **Flashback**

" _Arya!" Lyonel shouted. She had left before the next match after the death of Ser Hugh. She was visibly shocked by the unexpected death of the young knight. Lyonel searched the entire castle before finally arriving at their training grounds. He found Arya on the steps, staring at the ground in front of her._

" _Arya." she kept staring at the ground and said nothing. He walked over to her before sitting down next to her._

 _After a few moments of silence, she spoke, "He died for nothing."_

 _Lyonel was confused, but didn't show it, "Ser Hugh?"_

 _Arya nodded, "He died for nothing and nobody even cares. They're all going to go about their business as if nothing happened. No one will mourn him. No one will care."_

 _Lyonel knew she spoke the truth. He himself couldn't say that he cared if the knight died. "You're wrong about one thing."_

 _Arya looks at him, "What?"_

" _You care. You might not be exactly mourning him, but you care nonetheless. You're not going to go about your day as if nothing happened. You're not going to forget nor ignore the fact that he died." Arya looked at him. "You also don't glorify his death like many others will. Saying that he died doing what he loved or he died for the Vale, his home or his family name. You accept that he died for nothing, yet you still care, even if he's a stranger. Don't you ever lose such compassion and sympathy."_

 _Arya stared at Lyonel in surprise before smiling, "I'm glad I have someone other than Jon who understands me." She wraps her arms around Lyonel's neck before pulling him down and hugging him, "Thank you."_

 _Lyonel was surprised to silence. He was quiet for a few moments before returning the hug and saying, "Don't mention it."_

 **Flashback end**

"Lyonel?" He was snapped out if his thinking. He realized that he was musing and looked at Arya without saying anything. "Where did you go?" She asks.

Lyonel looked at the ground in front of him, "Doesn't matter." He stood up to leave before he was stopped by Arya. He turned to look at her, "What?"

Arya stared at him before speaking, "I was wondering… do you have time-I mean…" She sighed, "Would you like to maybe… have something to eat? I'm hungry and… I would appreciate it if you ate with me. I you'd like to, I mean."

Lyonel stared at her with an unreadable expression for a while. He finally smiled and said, "I would." Lyonel was confused as to why she didn't just say it and acted so nervously. Was she afraid that Lyonel would reject her offer? He didn't know why exactly she would think that. They had been training with each other every single day. This was just one time where they would be eating together. He decided not to think much on the matter.

Arya smiled back at him before standing up and following him out of the room.

 **Later**

Lyonel pierced the meat from the animal he had hunted himself, with his fork. He put the delicious venison in his mouth before pulling the fork out and chewing on the flesh. He swallowed it before putting his knife and fork down. Arya looked at him, "Can we go out hunting?"

Lyonel just stared at her, "That was straight forward."

Arya just shrugged. "You're too young for hunting. You're skilled with a blade for someone of your age, but your archery is less than adequate for hunting." Arya looked disappointed. Lyonel continued, "But in the future, perhaps, when you have grown up. When your body has finally grown some muscles and when you have learned archery well. Then, we can hunt together. Until then, we should stick to training with a sword."

Arya looked curious, "Why do you train with a sword?"

Lyonel stared at her, "What do you mean?"

"Is there anything new for you to learn?"

Lyonel smiled, "I'm not exactly a master in swordsmanship. Yes, I might be very strong, but strength can only get you so far. I'm not as skilled as my uncle or Barristan Selmy. I must still practice my skill, speed and precision."

Arya nodded slowly in understanding. Another question popped up in her head, "How good are you with archery?"

"I'm one of the best shots in the seven kingdoms." Arya stared at him with a childlike wonder. Lyonel chuckled, "I'm not the very best, though."

"Who is that, then?"

"My master. He calls himself Anguy the Archer. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the best and quickest shot in the entire world."

Arya looked even more excited, "Can I meet him?" she asked eagerly.

Lyonel nodded with a smile, "If I see him again, I'll make sure to ask him for his time." Lyonel stood up, "I must take my leave. I'm starting to smell like a pig sty." Arya giggled.

"And I can tell that you're not much better off." Arya stopped giggling and looked as if she was offended. Lyonel quickly evacuated the room before she started doing damage.

 **Later**

Lyonel had made his way to Lord Stark's solar after his presence was requested. He was welcomed in by Lord Stark. Lyonel sat down before asking why he was there.

"I heard from Arya that you worship the old gods. I heard what you said from Arya but I wanted to hear for myself. I did not expect a prince from the south to be so interested in our northern culture."

Lyonel stared at the Lord of Winterfell, "I did not expect the old gods to be real either."

Eddard stared at him in confusion and surprise. "What do you mean, my prince?" Lord Stark asked.

Lyonel stared at the table in front of him before looking at Lord Stark again, "I've heard them. The first time was when my mother had hit me for hurting Joffrey when Joffrey had been tormenting Myrcella. I went to pray at the heart tree several days afterwards. I already prayed to the new gods several times, yet nothing happened."

"What were you praying for, my prince?"

"I prayed for my mother's forgiveness. I wanted her to love me again instead of glaring at me whenever she saw me. Nothing ever happened. Then one day, I went to the heart tree instead. I prayed. Then suddenly, I heard a voice. It was whispering my name. I looked around and no one was there. I looked at the heart tree. I walked closer to it. The closer I got, the louder the whispering was. I never knew if the old gods truly were deities or if they were supernatural entities, acting as deities. All I know is that they are real."

Lyonel sighed, "I know I might sound mad. I thought I was too in the beginning. Then I realized that the whispering only happened when I was at the heart tree. It kept getting louder and louder every time I prayed."

Lord Stark was shocked at hearing the story. He looked as if he wanted to say something. Lyonel noticed this, "What is it, Lord Stark?"

Eddard looked at him, "My prince… I must speak with you later. Right now, I have something else to attend to. But we must speak later. It is of great priority." Lyonel was confused but nodded nonetheless.

 **Later**

Lyonel walked towards Lord Starks solar, where he was to speak to Eddard. He walked inside to see Lord Stark writing a letter. He stopped writing as soon as he realized that Lyonel was there. "My prince, sit, please." He motioned for the chair at the opposite end of the table. Lyonel walked over and sat down. Lyonel said nothing but stared at Eddard expectantly.

Eddard sighed, "When I was younger. Back when I, Brandon, Lyanna and Benjen were all children. I went to the Godswood sometimes to look at the heart tree. I wanted to see its red sap. Brandon told me that it would sometimes cry, so I wanted to see it for myself. One day I decided to pray to them. Then I heard faint whispering. But they were not whispering my name."

Lyonel was curious but kept his trademark expressionless face on, "Whose name did they whisper?"

Eddard stared at him, "Lyonel, they whispered. They kept whispering it to me until the day I was to be sent off to the Vale and to be a ward to Jon Arryn. They whispered your name, my prince."

Lyonel stared at him in shock, "They whispered… my name?"

Eddard nodded, "I thought that Robert was jesting with me when he named you Lyonel. He used to mock me when I told him. At the time, we were very young. But I asked him if he even remembered that I told him about it. He said he had no idea what I was babbling about."

Lyonel looked at him, "What does this mean, my lord?"

Lord Stark continued, "I'm not one for believing in signs. But I know this much. The old gods have something planned for you, my prince. It may be something small, or something large. Either way, they have something planned. For your sake, I hope it is something small."

Lyonel stood up, "I need some time to process this, my lord."

Eddard nodded in understanding, "Of course my prince. Take your time."

Lyonel turned around and walked towards the door. His mind in turmoil.

 **Garrett**

Garrett watched as Daenerys bit into the heart of a stallion. She kneeled on a wide wooden platform as women surrounded her and chanted in dothraki. Jorah Mormont stood beside Garrett along with Viserys. Viserys turned to Garrett, "She has to eat the whole heart?" Garrett nodded. "Hope that wasn't my horse."

"She's doing well" Jorah said.

"She'll never keep it down."

Garrett glanced at Viserys before looking at Daenerys again, "I'd have more faith in her if I were you, your grace."

Soon, the entire crowd started chanting as the oldest woman starting saying something that Viserys couldn't understand. Khal Drogo, who was watching Daenerys, leaned forward.

Viserys asks Garrett, "Tell me what she's saying."

"The prince is riding. I have heard the thunder of his hooves, swift as the wind he rides. His enemies will cower before him and their wives will weep tears of blood."

Jorah spoke a few seconds later, "She's going to have a boy."

Viserys was silent for a few seconds before he spoke, "He won't be a real Targaryen. He won't be a true dragon."

Garrett didn't respond and neither did Jorah. Daenerys looked as if she was about to vomit. She finally keeled over, silencing the crowd. Everyone stared at her in silent suspense. Daenerys slowly lifted herself up, revealing that she has eaten the whole heart.

Khal Drogo smiles at her in approval. The old woman started speaking loudly, as if announcing something.

This time, Jorah translated, "The Stallion who mounts the world." Viserys looked at him with a confused expression. Jorah continued, "The Stallion is the Khal of Khals. He shall unite the people into a single khalasar. All the people of the world shall become his herd."

Daenerys stood up on her feet before announcing loudly in dothraki, _"A prince rides inside me! And he shall be called Rhaego!"_ the crowd started chanting "Rhaego!" soon. Khal Drogo stood up before walking to Daenerys. Viserys looked around, "They love her."

Daenerys walks to Khal Drogo and he holds her waist before carrying her around in a circle in front of the entire crowd, parading her proudly. All the while, the crowd started chanting louder and louder to the point where Garrett could feel the vibrations of their unified voices under his feet.

"She truly is a queen today." Jorah said as he turned to look at Viserys, only to find him gone. He pokes Garrett on the shoulder. He turns around to ask Jorah what he wanted until he also realized that Viserys was gone. They both look at each other before they both walk out of the tent in haste. They both quickly make their way to Daenerys' tent, all while the chanting of the crowd was heard. They both found Viserys putting a dragon egg in his bag. He stops before putting his hand on his sword and turning around. He relaxes his hand as he sees who it is, but doesn't remove his hand.

Garrett broke the silence, "Don't let them see you carrying a sword in Vaes Dothrak, your grace. It is law here."

Viserys removes his hand, "It's not my law." He turns around and takes the other two dragon eggs and putting them in his bag.

"They're not yours" Jorah says with a calm voice.

"Whatever is hers is also mine."

They both step forward as Garrett speaks, "Perhaps once, your grace… but no longer."

Viserys turns around, "If I sold one egg, I'll have enough to buy a ship. Two eggs, a ship and an army."

"And you have all three" Jorah pointed out.

"I need a large army." Viserys steps forward, "I'm the last hope for the dynasty. The greates dynasty this world has ever seen on my shoulders since I was five years old. And no one has ever given me what they gave her in that tent. Never. Not a piece of it. how can I carry what I need to carry without it. Who can rule without wealth or fear or love." Jorah and Garrett stare at him in silence.

Viserys chuckles mockingly before walking forward to Jorah, "You stand there with all your nobility and honor. You think I don't see you looking at my little sister, Hmm? Don't think I know what you want?" Garrett looked at Jorah who just kept staring forward. Viserys continues, "I don't care. She can be the queen of savages and dine of the bloody finest horse parts and you can dine on whichever parts of her you like. But let me go." Viserys tried to walk out but is stopped by both Jorah and Garrett.

"You can go. You can't have the eggs."

"You both swore an oath to me. Does loyalty mean nothing to any of you?"

"It means everything to us" Jorah answered.

"And yet, here you stand" Viserys retorts.

Garrett spoke, "And yet, here we stand."

Viserys stared at them before he dropped the bag on the ground. Garrett and Jorah moved out of the way. Viserys stormed out of the room. Garrett picked up the bag before he walked to the chest and put the eggs back in. He threw the bag on the ground before turning around to see Jorah staring at him with an unreadable expression.

Garrett stared back in silence before speaking, "I won't tell her."

Jorah looked relieved before nodding in gratitude.

 **Lyonel**

Lyonel was sitting on a wooden chair next to the iron throne, currently occupied by Lord Stark. Jon was standing next to Lyonel. They were listening to survivors of a raid on a village in the Riverlands. Other survivors stood behind the one speaking, looking down at the ground in mourning. "They burned almost everything in the Riverlands. Our fields, our granaries, our homes. They took our women. Then they took 'em again. When they was done, they butchered them as if they was animals. They covered out children in pitch… and lit them on fire." The man silently started to cry as he looked at the ground.

Lyonel's face was as expressionless as always, but his hands were gripping the arms of the chair with such force that the wood began to crack. Jon noticed this and put his hand on Lyonel's shoulder to placate him. Lyonel did nothing but stare at the poor man. His hands grip on the arms of the chair eased.

"Brigands, most likely." Pycelle said.

The man shook his head, "They were no bandits. They didn't steal nothing. They even left something behind."

Another man walked up behind him. The man was carrying a bag. He walked past the survivor and spilled the contents of the bag on the ground. Rotten fish was spilled on the floor.

Petyr Baelish knew what this meant, "Fish. The sigil of House Tully."

"The banners" Lyonel asked. Most people were surprised at hearing the ever silent prince speak. They were even more surprised at how robust and deep his voice was.

The survivor looked up at him, "The banners had an insect on it with a tail that went over its body. It had legs like a spider."

Lyonel looked furious, he turned to Lord Stark, "He is describing the banners of Ser Amory Lorch, the man who murdered Princess Rhaenys." Lyonel turned to look at Beric Dondarrion. "Lord Beric Dondarrion." He commanded. The lord stepped forward without hesitation. He may have been a bannerman of Renly, but almost every vassal in the Stormlands was loyal to Lyonel.

"You shall have the command. Assemble one hundred men and ride to Amory Lorch's keep."

Beric nodded, "As you command, my prince."

Lyonel was not finished, "In the name of Robert of House Baratheon, the first of his name. King of The Andals and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm… and my father. I charge you to bring the false knight Amory Lorch to my feet, and all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him and strip him of all of his lands and titles, ranks and holdings. And sentence him to death."

Murmuring broke out in the crowd. Lyonel spoke louder, announcing to everyone in the room, "Bring Amory Lorch to my feet, and he will know the true meaning of pain and suffering! He shall be hanged, drawn and quartered by my own hand! He shall not receive a swift death. He will suffer for what he has done!" the murmurs broke out even louder than last time. Beric Dondarrion nodded. Lord Stark and the other advisors tried to protest, but Lyonel would have none of it. He turned to Grand Maester Pycelle, "Send a raven to Tywin Lannister. He must answer for the crimes of his bannermen. He will arrive in the fortnight, or he will be branded a traitor and an enemy of the realm."

He walked down the steps and made his way through the crowd, not even giving Lord Stark a chance to protest. He made his way out of the room with Beric by his side.

 **Later**

Lyonel walked through the streets of King's Landing. He was followed by other men who, just like Lyonel, wore cloaks to cover their identities. Lyonel had set up a base of operations in the street. He had spies set out, hidden peacekeepers to help quench a riot if it ever happened in the streets and he also needed another way for income. If Lyonel was ever out of the city, or if he was trapped in the city, he needed to have control over the streets and the commoners. It also helped that he had connections in the city that could help him and his family to escape from the city, should it ever fall.

It was also a small part of how Lyonel was able to help the crown gain one and a half million gold dragons. They were still in debt but soon, Lyonel would gain even more income. He was on his way to "negotiate" a deal with some of Littlefinger's henchmen in the streets. He planned to take over businesses, like different taverns and brothels for income. Currently, it was one of Littlefinger's brothels. He would steal Littlefinger's coins right under his nose by planting his own men into Baelish's ranks.

They walked into an abandoned building that wasn't too far away from the brothel. He was to meet up with Baelish's henchmen. They walked through the building, walking past several hired guards until they arrived at a door. They walked inside to see three men sitting at a table with several other guards for protection.

The man in the middle spoke, "You're here. Good. Please, sit."

Lyonel and the two other men sat down. The man wasted no time before speaking, something Lyonel could respect, "How much are you willing to pay for our loyalty?"

Lyonel stared at him, "How much do you want?"

The man looked at the other two sitting beside him before turning to Lyonel, "We want one hundred gold dragons. Each."

Lyonel kept staring at him wordlessly. The man was clearly unnerved, "You will earn much more gold in the long run. It's a good deal. One hundred gold dragons or I order the guards outside to come in here and kill you." the man tried to look brave.

Lyonel stared at him for a while before nodding, "As you wish." He nodded towards the man to his left. The man pulled out a knife and put it on the table.

The man looked at the knife, "What is this?"

Lyonel looked at him, "The price for your loyalty."

The man had no chance to react as his mouth was covered by one of the guards from behind, along with the other two at his table. The guards pulled out their own knives before stabbing the men rapidly in the chest several times. The men screamed into the hands in pain. Lyonel stood up before turning around and walking outside. He stepped out of the room quickly enough to see one of the guards getting his throat slit. He walked through the building, along the way he saw several guards getting butchered like animals by his own men. He kept walking, his face betraying no emotion. He finally arrived outside to see someone waiting for him.

The man was young and had a scar above his right eye. He also had brown hair and yellow glowing eyes. The man was a former slave of the Yi Ti Empire that Lyonel had befriended.

The man spoke in a strange accent, "Is it done?"

Lyonel nodded, "It is as we agreed. You will have a fourth of the income. If Baelish is wary of you, we will pin the blame on another one of his lackeys. You are under my protection now." The man seemed pleased as he smiled. He held out his hand, and Lyonel shook it.

"Good doing business with you."

"Likewise." The man walked past Lyonel and into the building. Lyonel turned to look at the building. It wouldn't be too long before Lyonel gained control over the entire streets of King's Landing from Baelish and other owners, criminal or not. Most people would be surprised that a boy of five and ten, now almost six and ten, would be able to control the capital in secret.

But they don't say that he has the wits of Tyrion Lannister for nothing.

 **Garrett**

Garrett stood next to Ser Jorah as they watched the feast go on as drums were beating. Garrett spotted Viserys walking inside, stumbling. Garrett could tell that he was drunk. Viserys shouted, "Daenerys!" Daenerys, Garrett, Jorah and Doreah both looked at him. Before Daenerys could order them to stop him, Garrett stormed towards Viserys. "Where is she!?" Viserys shouted in an almost childlike voice. "I'm here for the feast!" he told some dothraki. "The whore's feast."

Garrett grabbed him by the shoulder, "That's enough, your grace."

Viserys smacks Garrett's hand aside, "Get your hands off me. No one touches the dragon."

Khal Drogo laughs, making Viserys turn around, "Khal Drogo! I'm here for the feast." Khal Drogo said something in dothraki, confusing Viserys. Viserys turns towards Garrett.

Garrett stared at Viserys, "Khal Drogo says there is a place for you." He points to the opposite corner of the tent. "Back there."

Viserys turns around and shakes his head, "That is no place for a king."

Khal Drogo leans forward before saying, "You are no king" In the common tongue. Viserys draws his sword in anger as Garrett does nothing but glare at Viserys.

Daenerys stands up, "Viserys, please."

Viserys turns to look at his sister, "There she is."

Jorah tries to warn Viserys, "Put the sword down. They'll kill us all."

"They can't kill us. They can't shed blood in their sacred city." Viserys points his sword at Daenerys' belly. "But I can." Viserys looks at Khal Drogo before glancing back at Daenerys, "I want what I came for. I want the crown he promised me. He bought you, but he never paid for you. Tell him I want what was bargained for or else I'm taking you back. He can keep the baby." He pushes the blade on her belly, but not hard enough to cut her skin. "I'll cut it out and leave it for him."

Garrett had enough as he silently walked up behind Viserys and quickly wrapped his arm around Viserys' neck and dragged him away from Daenerys. He threw Viserys to the floor before he took Viserys' sword. Two dothraki walk forward and grab each of Viserys' arms and lift him from the floor. They drag him beside the fireplace

Viserys yells in panic, "No! No! You can not touch me! I am the dragon! I am a dragon!"

Khal Drogo walks forward, towards Viserys' direction. He walks past Viserys and throws gold medallions into a pot above the fire.

Jorah walks to Daenerys' side, "Look away, Khaleesi."

Daenerys shakes her head, "No."

Viserys stared at her in shock. He turns to look at the pot filled with molten gold. He soon realizes what is about to happen to him and panics, "No, Dany. Dany, tell them. Make them!"

Khal Drogo lifts up the kettle and walks towards Viserys.

"No you can't! Dany, please!"

Viserys looks up at Khal Drogo, who says, "A crown for a king." He pours the kettle's contents over Viserys' head. Viserys screams in horrible agony as he is crowned by the molten gold. He stops screaming as his body goes limp and the dothraki holding him, drops him. The molten gold clangs against the floor.

Garrett watched the entire event unfold calmly.

Jorah asks, "Khaleesi?"

"He was no dragon. Fire cannot kill a dragon."

 **A/N: I'm back! Well... it's more like the story is back. I have two other stories going on and I knew i was neglecting this story far too much. so i decided to update. I also decided to make a little schedule too. Check out my fanfic page to see it.**

 **I also want to hear what you guys think about Lyonel infiltrating Baelish's spy network and brothel income.**

 **Fluffy butt: In case you didn't notice. The conversation between Lyonel and Arya was sort of an answer to your review. whether you're satisfied or not by the answer is up to you.**

 **Gangui: It's not that i don't like the hound. I actually like him a lot. But Lyonel himself hates the Hound.**

 **BigReader: I hope you mean hilarious in the good way.**

 **Simflyer: Thankfully, there are enough ass kicking to go around.**


	7. New-Found Protection And Affection

"My name is Samwell Tarly… my prince," The now named Samwell Tarly said. Lyonel had visited Yoren to see the criminals were bringing to the watch. He had spotted the chubby man, and to Lyonel's surprise. He was no criminal. The words didn't leave Sam's mouth but Lyonel could tell. This man was no thief, rapist nor murderer. Therefore, he had decided to ask the man questions.

Only a few seconds later did Lyonel realize the meaning of his name, ' _Tarly?'_ Lyonel questioned in his head. Lyonel asked shortly, "Son of Randyll?" Samwell nodded shyly. Lyonel stared at Samwell for an entire minute, which unnerved Samwell greatly. "You're no volunteer." He stated, not asked.

Samwell seemed to panic slightly, "I'm no criminal, I promi-" Lyonel raised his hand to stop him from speaking any further.

"Why?" Lyonel asked after a while. Samwell looked confused. Lyonel elaborated, "Why are you here?"

"I told you, my prince. I volunteere-" He was cut short by Lyonel's intimidating stare. Samwell sighed as he knew he wouldn't be fooling the prince, "My… father. He made me." Lyonel said nothing, only stared, waiting for Sam to continue. "On the morning of my eighteenth name day, my father came to me. "You're almost a man now." he said. "But you're not worthy of my land and title. Tomorrow, you are going to take the black. Forsake all your claims to inheritance and start north. If you do not…" Samwell's lips trembled slightly. "…he said. "Then we'll have a hunt… and somewhere in these woods. Your horse will stumble… and you'll be thrown from your saddle to die. Or so I'll tell your mother. Nothing would please me more." Lyonel's expression was as empty as always.

Lyonel suddenly turned towards Yoren, who was watching from afar with slight anger on his expression. No doubt from Samwell's story. Lyonel motioned for Yoren to come closer. Yoren did so, "What do you need, my prince?"

Lyonel nodded towards Samwell, "Him."

Samwell's eyes widened in surprise, "My prince-"

"You wouldn't survive a day at Castle Black."

"He's right." Yoren said. "But… The Lord Commander will not be pleased by one man short just because I gave him away. But then again, since you've done so much for the Watch, I doubt he's going to mind."

Lyonel pulled out a pouch before handing it to Yoren, "The Watch needs all it can get. You cannot afford charity. Not even for me."

Yoren nodded in gratitude before examining the contents, to find it filled with gold dragons, "This'll buy us a lot of new blades and armor, no doubt. This is more than a fair trade for this big boy." He looks at Samwell, "No offence, lad."

"None taken," Samwell says.

Lyonel glances at Samwell, ordering him to follow, before he leaves for the Red Keep. Along the way, Samwell couldn't help but ask, "Why did you buy my freedom? You know, besides me not being able to survive for a day in that place."

Lyonel stopped walking before he turned to look at Samwell, "When I look in your eyes, I see intelligence and wit. But you lack cunning. You have no method to truly harness the gift of mind you have been given. You are not strong, nor skilled with a blade. But your mind is sharper than the edge of Valyrian steel. You will act as my advisor if you wish it so. Or you could go back home to your father."

Samwell said nothing for a while, until, "How do you know my mind is sharp?"

"Because… I know a smart man when I see one, Samwell Tarly. And I see an exceptionally smart one in front of me, whose only flaws are his weight… and his lack of use for his greatest virtue. It would be a waste of good intelligence to send you to live among those criminals."

Lyonel continued walking back to the Red Keep, with his new advisor on heel.

* * *

 **Lyonel's room**

Lyonel looked at the new leather tunic he had bought from the tailor shop. He made a special request for the tunic. It was made from an extremely comfortable material and it was very flexible so it wouldn't hinder his combat abilities in the slightest. It was as white as snow except for the back which had a black stag on a yellow lightning bolt embroidered on it. The lightning bolt was there to signify his nickname, The Silent Storm. His gaze fell on the back of the jacket in silent approval. Lyonel finally put it on, already comfortable wearing it. He had requested for two of them, in case one got sullied with dirt… or blood.

Lyonel raised his hands and stared at the scars that marred the palm of his hands. He remembered the hunt vividly.

 **Flashback**

 _Lyonel breathed calmly and deeply as his eyes spotted the stag. His eyes quickly scanned area surrounding the stag to see if there were any others. He didn't need a surprise. When his eyes found none other than the first, he slowly and quietly marched forward. The stag suddenly spotted Lyonel as he accidently stepped on a twig. The stag seemed to be staring at him intently, almost as if it was glaring at him. The stag was bigger than normal. Its hide seemed to glow yellow. Lyonel's hands tightly gripped the spear he was holding._

 _Lyonel remembered the spectators watching him. His uncle Jaime, Ser Barristan and his father's eyes were watching intently. Yet they did not seem surprised at how it was glowing, as if Lyonel was the only one that could tell it was._

 _Lyonel closed his eyes before inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He opened his eyes to find himself on a field. There were no rocks, trees or even tree roots in the ground for him to have his foot stuck under. Only… snow? Lyonel breathed and saw that his breath was forming a cold cloud in front of him. yet his body was warm. There was a lone weirwood tree watching him from the side. Lyonel noticed that the stag was far off in the distance, still… glaring at him. There was nothing but Lyonel, the stag… and the old gods watching. Lyonel didn't know why he wasn't surprised to find himself in another place completely. It almost like he was used to this place. The weirwood tree calmed him. It made him feel like home._

 _Suddenly, the stag charged. The stomping of its hooves echoed throughout the field. Lyonel could hear nothing but the stag charging, the beating of his heart in his ears, his own deep breaths and the sound of his blood rushing through his veins. Time seemed to slow down. It was as if his senses were enhanced. Lyonel threw the spear off to the side. He couldn't stop his feet from taking a step forward, and soon, another step. And yet another step, until Lyonel suddenly found himself charging the stag. The snow was crushed beneath his feet. His breathing was still, surprisingly, steady. Lyonel was surprised to find that he was running with incredible speed, like the speed of a lion charging its prey. The distance between them got shorter and shorter._

 _The stag suddenly aimed its antlers at Lyonel's guts. Lyonel suddenly found himself grabbing the antlers. Lyonel's hands were pierced and he found himself being pushed backwards. His feet dug up the ground beneath him. Lyonel was pushed back a few more feet, before he stopped the stag completely. The stag shook its head to try and move, its antlers aggravated the wounds in Lyonel's hands. Lyonel was shocked to find that he felt no pain, as if his nerves had been dampened. But its head was held still by Lyonel's hands. Lyonel roared as he ripped of its right antlers with a single, powerful push. He pulled the antler down before he thrust the point into the stag's throat and out of its head._

 _Lyonel pulled his hand off of the spike on the antler that pierced his hand. He did so with his other hand before letting the limp corpse of the stag fall to the ground. The blood painted the snow red. Lyonel breathed calmly before he closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, and out of his mouth._

 _Lyonel suddenly found himself in the forest again, with the stag dead beneath his feet._

" _Lyonel!" A large hand grabbed Lyonel by the shoulder and turned him around. Lyonel saw his father's awed face. "What were you thinking, boy? We shouted for you to stop. Didn't you hear us?"_

 _Lyonel, unsurprisingly, said nothing as he stared back at the dead stag under him._

 _For a second, he thought he heard a faint whisper. A whisper he had heard whenever in the presence of the old gods,_ _ **"Lyonel…**_ _"_

 **Flashback End**

Lyonel curled his hand into a fist and closed his eyes.

Frantic knockings was heard on his door. "Lyonel, open up, hurry!" he heard Myrcella's panicked voice. He immediately rushed to his door before opening it to see Myrcella. She had tears in her eyes, "Jon's been attacked!"

"What." Lyonel asked with an emotionless voice.

Myrcella nodded in confirmation, her locks jumping up and down, "He was attacked in the Red Keep."

"Lead me to him."

Myrcella nodded before she started running with Lyonel on her tail. After a half minute of running, they arrived in a room where Jon was sitting on a table, his face bloodied and his cheek bruised. Thankfully, he was still recognizable. The doctor was healing Jon's wounds while Samwell was tending to his right leg. He was proving to be a good assistant for the doctor. Arya and Eddard sat next to him. They both stood up when they realized that Lyonel was in the room with them.

Lyonel said nothing to either of them but instead walked up to Jon, "Who did this to you?" his face betrayed no emotion yet again.

Jon shrugged with a painful expression on his face and spoke with a raspy voice, "I don't know. I was walking in the castle when suddenly; three men appeared and called me a bastard. Said I had it coming and that I should stay away from people above me. They then tried to beat me senseless. Guess they didn't know I could fight back since one of them had their nose broken and another, his hand." Jon was silent before he said, "Lyonel, can I talk to you alone?"

Myrcella, Arya and Eddard all immediately left the room, along with the doctor and Samwell, leaving the two alone.

Jon motioned for him to come closer, and Lyonel complied until his face was right in front of Jon's. Jon leaned forward to whisper in Lyonel's ear, "I didn't want to say this in front of Myrcella but… one of the men. Before they all attacked me, said "With love from the queen"." Lyonel quickly pulled back from shock and surprise.

"She knows."

Jon looked at him in confusion, "Sorry?"

"My mother… She knows about you and Myrcella."

Jon's eyes widened, "Is that why?"

Lyonel nodded. The room fell into an eerie silence. It was an entire minute before Lyonel asked, "Anything else?"

Jon nodded slowly, "One of them called the other by Damien… and one of them dropped this." he pulled out a small, golden coin that had a small carving of a Lannister lion on it. Lyonel inspected it before he pocketed it.

Lyonel nodded before letting the others in. Arya sat down on her previous seat as did Lord Stark.

Eddard spoke with passionate anger in his voice, "I'm going to find who did this to you, Jon. I'll send out guards to find them."

"No, you won't" Lyonel said, surprising everyone.

"My prince-"

"We don't know anything about them. We don't know if they acted alone, or who sent them." Lyonel's eyes met Jon's at the last part. "It would be nothing more than a waste of energy for the men, and a waste of time for us."

Lyonel didn't stay for a second longer as he marched out of the room.

* * *

 **Arya**

Goddamn that bloody idiot! How could Lyonel abandon Jon, his friend, just like that? He left the room after demanding they do nothing when one of them was attacked. It was as if Jon meant nothing to him, as if what happened had no consequence for him.

"Arya, what's wrong?" Jon asks, breaking Arya out of her thoughts, apparently realizing that she is upset.

"Lyonel."

"What's wrong with Lyonel?"

"That idiot just left you like you mean nothing to him!"

Jon's eyes widened, "Arya, you can't say that about the prince!" the doctor just glanced at Arya briefly before continuing. Arya was fortunate that the room was absent of Eddard.

"Why not?! He just came here, asked what happened, and then just left! After everything you've done for him and he's just going to ignore what happened? How can you be so calm about it!? You're his friend!"

Jon was silent for a few seconds before speaking, "He's done more for me than anyone else ever has, next to Lord Stark. I can't be mad at him. And it's not like he can do anything. Besides… he may be my friend but…" Jon couldn't help but feel slightly betrayed that Lyonel would do nothing, but couldn't bring himself to be angry at him. It was Lyonel's own mother, after all.

Arya inquired, "But what?"

Jon sighed, "That doesn't mean I'm his."

Arya looked even more angered by this, "Well, it should!"

Jon was silent before he spoke quietly, "I think he's done more than enough for me, Arya."

Arya just huffed before she went back to her angry line of thought.

Half an hour later, they both made their way outside of the room and went about their business. But Arya insisted to stay with Jon to protect him. Jon chuckled quietly at his little sister's antics and fierce protectiveness. Jon had dismissed her, telling her he would be fine by himself, when she walked by Lyonel's room.

Arya was immediately angered by the sight of it and angrily stomped towards his room, an entire speech prepared for him. She arrived at the door and knocked on it loudly, "Open up!"

A calm voice that belonged to Lyonel was heard, "It is unlocked."

Arya opened the door quickly before barging in with a furious expression, "What is wrong with you, you selfish-"She suddenly stopped at the sight of Lyonel cleaning his face from a bowl of water. What made her stop with shock was the bowl. The water inside of it was tainted with red.

Blood red.

Lyonel's hands shook back and forth, launching the water drops off, before he turned to look at Arya. He stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

"Lyonel… what happened?"

Lyonel sighed before he spoke, "I found the men responsible for attacking Jon. I took care of them."

Arya stared at him with wide eyes for several seconds. She would have asked why he killed them instead of bringing them to the authorities, but couldn't blame him. But she couldn't help but be curious as to why he did it, instead of thinking how he knew, "Why?"

Lyonel stared at the ground for a while before he looked up and walked towards the window and looking out, speaking in a calm voice, "You are to be my wife soon. And Jon, my brother. Your family shall become mine. And I shall treat you as such. If anyone lays a single harmful finger on your family, they will be repaid in kind." He turned to look at her, "The day you were announced to be my betrothed, is the day you and your family came under my protection."

Arya looked at the ground. She knew she should be thankful, but couldn't help but ask, "Is that the only reason you protect my family? Because we are to be married?"

Lyonel was quiet before he slowly walked towards her. He arrived in front of her before speaking in a soft voice, "No. Not the only reason. I do it because Jon is my friend, and Myrcella is infatuated with him. I do it because your family is one of honor, not deserving of such assaults, which is more than I can say for most Houses." Lyonel's hand gently cupped Arya's cheek before he lifted her head to look at him, her own hand grazing the back of his, "I do it because I want to protect you. And everyone you love and hold dear."

Arya felt her heartbeat hasten along with her breathing as blood ran up her neck and to her cheeks. Arya realized she was blushing. But failed to realize the true reason why her heartbeat had been quickened. Her mouth opened but couldn't blurt out any words. She finally settled for a whisper, "Thank you."

Lyonel nodded with a small smile before he removed his hand from her cheek. Arya instantly missed the warmth of his hand on her cheek. She couldn't believe she blushed like a foolish lady. Like Sansa. But how could she not?

He was her hero, someone she looked up to. Even before she met him, she would often pretend to be the Silent Storm, roaming the streets, bringing any rapists and murderers to justice. She would love hearing tales of him from the locals in the streets. But she was angered every time someone spoke ill of him. Calling him a murderer, no better than the criminal he killed at the age of three and ten. She would sometimes shout at them angrily before storming off, leaving most people who saw her temper laugh. Her father would often speak to her gently about her temper, and not to mind the others

Even after meeting him, she only began liking him more and more. She was extremely excited to meet him, and was not disappointed by him. She was not only more excited when she found out he would train her in swordsmanship. She was immensely thankful for it. To allow her such freedom, with no one to object the commands of a second born prince, not even her mother… it seemed like she could breathe freely. Like a bird that had just been freed from its cage. For that is what was granted to her the day Lyonel, The Silent Storm… and her betrothed, had arrived that day in Winterfell.

Freedom.

And for that she would be eternally grateful. She realized now her impulsive mistake.

' _What an idiot I was. Speaking ill about Lyonel. Shouting at him.'_ Her thoughts state in disappointment of herself. Once she got over her disappointment, and her blush had faded, she asked, "How did you find them?"

Lyonel's mind swiftly came up with a lie. He walked over to his table before leaning with his back against it, his arms crossed against his chest, "Jon remembered one of the men say the name Damien. I asked around the streets. I heard he had two other henchmen with him at all times. And since Jon was attacked by three men, it only made sense to follow my only lead. I heard he was at Baelish's brothel and…"

* * *

 **An hour before**

Lyonel walked through the Streets of Silk, his hands in the pockets of his leather tunic. He arrived in front of Baelish's brothel. He remembered sneaking into the brothel at the age of two-and-ten. His mother, unsurprisingly, had an entire scolding speech prepared for him. While his father had praised his actions, something Lyonel was disappointed of. His disappointment was only furthered once Robert's respect had faded after Lyonel said he hadn't slept with a whore, nor had any intentions to.

He opened the door and saw the inside of the building. Most of the courtesans were eyeing Lyonel with lustful eyes. The walls were red with several patterns on it, depicting roses and vines. There was a stair on the opposite end of the room that split into two different directions halfway up. The stairs had a red carpet with the same pattern on it. Someone was playing a lute, but Lyonel couldn't see who it was. Nor did he care.

One of the whores approached Lyonel, she spoke in a sultry voice, "Why, hello there, handsome. Have you been here before? I swear I've seen your handsome face. I wonder… who are you?"

Lyonel stared at the woman, "No one important."

The woman's eyes widened before she smiled, as if she recognized him. She approached him before gently pushing her body against his side and whispering in his ear, "My, you've grown. I remember seeing you when you were just a child. How quickly you've grown up into a man. So strong…" Her hand grazed his torso, gently, through his jacket. Her hand finally arrived at his manhood before she suddenly cupped Lyonel's groin through his pants. "…and big."

Lyonel was silent before his hand wandered down to her wrist. He grabbed her by the wrist before lifting her hand of his manhood. He glared at her, "I am already betrothed. Even before I was, I had never lain with a whore, and I don't intend to start now. So I would rather you not have me tempt infidelity. Your advances insult my betrothed and her honor." The woman stared at him with slightly fearful eyes. He released her wrist from his iron grip before walking past her.

Lyonel spotted a Lannister soldier burying his face between a whore's tits. He walked over to him before pulled the whore off, who yelped loudly. Lyonel looked at the soldier. The soldier had a broken nose.

The Lannister soldier glared at him, "What the fuck is your problem!?

"Where is Lucan?" Lyonel asked with an almost growling voice.

"Who?"

Lyonel just glared at him before speaking in an almost beast-like voice, "Where is Lucan?"

The soldier pointed to a hallway with an open door at the end of it. Lyonel said nothing as he put his pulled out a tiny blade that had been coated with altered Sweetsleep. He slid the blade into the man's axillary vein, but masking it as him putting his hand on the man's shoulder in gratitude before he pulled out the blade and put his hands in his pockets and walked down the hallway. Halfway there, he revealed a hammer he had put in the waistline of his pants. He reached behind himself before pulling it out with his right hand. He arrived into the room to see a man flirting with a courtesan; his hand was on the table next to him. What caught Lyonel's eye about it was that his hand was bandaged, as if it had been broken. There were several other whores in the room who seemed to be doing very inappropriate things to Lyonel with their eyes.

His eyes landed on the man. He recognized him as Lucan. Lyonel switched the hammer to his other hand before approaching Lucan. His right hand grabbed Lucan's arm before his other hand tightly gripped the handle of the hammer before raising it and bringing it down on his hand, three times. The whores gasped while Lucan screamed in pain. After the third smash, he pushed Lucan off of his chair, making him fall down on the ground. The courtesan who Lucan was flirting with ran by them. Lyonel kicked the chair out of the way as if it was nothing as it flew into the wall and broke one of its legs off. Lyonel slowly walked to Lucan's side before switching the hammer to his other hand and crouching down and pulling out the golden coin. He put the coin on Lucan's forehead and put the hammerhead on the coin. Lucan himself was crying in pain as he held his hand.

"Where is Damien?"

Lucan laughed but was clearly still terrified of Lyonel, "Don't worry, he's going to come and get you."

Lyonel raised the hammer furiously, Lucan cried out pathetically, "No… no."

"Bring him here."

Lyonel was filled with fury as he breathed heavily and quickly through his nose while resisting the urge to smash the coin into his skull. Lucan cried out loudly, "Someone, get Damien!" One of the whores got up before she ran out of the room. Lyonel suddenly calmed down as he brought the small golden coin to his face, "Remember this?" Lucan stared at him with horror marring his expression. Lyonel turned the hammer around and put the pointed end into Lucan's mouth. Lucan's lower lip was trembling as Lyonel put the golden coin with lion carvings into his mouth before pulling out the hammer and covering Lucan's mouth with his hand. Lucan coughed into his hand as he struggled to not swallow the coin.

A man walked into the room. A man who Lyonel recognized as Damien, "What the fuck is-" He froze and stared at Lyonel, "My prince? What are you doing?" the sight of the prince holding Lucan's mouth while Lucan was coughing was bizarre to say the least.

Lyonel said nothing as he stared at Damien in silence. Suddenly, Lyonel raised the hammer and slammed it down on Lucan's forehead, smashing a hole in his head as blood exploded all around Lyonel and landed on his face and on the ground. This all happened so fast that Damien did not know what happened until it ended. Several of the whores screamed in terror, all while, Lyonel was staring at Damien, not flinching for a second. Lyonel stood up slowly and menacingly, leaving the hammer in Lucan's skull. Damien looked shocked and terrified. He shook himself out of his shocked stupor before swiftly drawing his sword, the blade rasping as it was unsheathed.

Lyonel nonchalantly dodged a vertical swing from his sword. His hand curled up into a fist before he hooked it into Damien's gut. Damien felt the air leave his lungs as he keeled over from the unexpected force of Lyonel's punch. He had heard that the prince was strong, but the rumors did not even come close to describing the prince's true strength. Unknown to Damien, Lyonel was just going easy on him.

The guard commander stumbled back through the hallway, while being menacingly stalked by Lyonel. Damien's stance was shaky, clumsy and unstable thanks to the punch previously delivered by Lyonel. Damien pathetically tried to swing and gut the prince but all Lyonel did was to stop walking since Damien continued to walk backwards. Lyonel suddenly stepped forward before he grabbed Damien by the neck and punched him four times, dazing him severely. He then threw Damien on the ground. But he wasn't going to kill him just yet. Damien was desperate to get away as he crawled backwards. Lyonel quickly walked over to Damien's side before he slammed his foot on the sword. He crouched down before he pulled his fist back and brought it down on Damien's torso, cracking several ribs.

Damien coughed violently as he held his torso and writhed on the floor. Lyonel grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up. He pulled Damien closer to his face, "Why did you do it?"

Damien stared at him in fear and confusion, "What?"

"Jon."

Damien looked even more confused, "Who?"

Lyonel growled out loudly, "The bastard!" before he pulled his fist back and drove it into Damien's gut. Lyonel was prepared as he sidestepped when Damien keeled over and the bile that rose from Damien's gut, into his throat and out of his mouth, landing on the floor with a disgusting splat. He pulled Damien up roughly, "Why?!"

Damien looked terrified, "Your mother told me! She said she would reward us!"

Lyonel stared at him with fury in his eyes. Damien pleaded, "Let me go, my prince! Please, by the old gods and the new, I beg of you! I answered all of your questions!"

Lyonel stared at him in slight disbelief, "I don't think you understand. This wasn't an interrogation."

Damien stared at him in dismay, "What is this then!?"

Lyonel growled, "A lion toying with his prey." Damien had a look on his face that showed he had lost all hope. "And now, it's time to feast."

Lyonel leaned down and grabbed the blade from the floor before he thrusted the sword up beneath his ribcage and pierced the man's heart. Damien's eyes widened in shock before his entire body went limp, only being held up by Lyonel's grip on his throat. He threw the dead Lannister commander on the ground.

All around him, people stared at Lyonel in shock while the young man stared at his latest victim's corpse. After a minute, Lyonel looked up the stairs to see the same former Yi Ti slave, who was motioning for the whores who witnessed the event. As if asking _"Should I take care of it?"_ Lyonel shook his head wordlessly made his way out of the brothel. Warm blood dripped down his face as he made his way through the streets in silence.

 **The Present**

* * *

"…And then I made my way here. I changed my tunic and cleaned my face. The rest need no explaining." The source of information might have been a lie. But the story of how he slaughtered the three men were not. Of course, he left out how he killed them, and small details such as the whore who tried to seduce him. She needn't know.

"What happened to the third man, the one with the broken nose?"

Lyonel uncrossed his arms before putting them on the edge of the table, "Probably in an eternal slumber. The sight of me killing Damien in front of him must have quickened his pulse, made his blood flow faster along with the poison in them." Lyonel was silent before he looked at Arya, "I would appreciate it if you were to stay quiet about this. None of the whores knew who I was, so no one will know it was me."

"Why? People would praise you for protecting the honor of one of the greatest houses in the seven kingdoms." Would it have been anyone else, she would have most likely accused them of being ashamed to admit protecting a bastard, but this was Lyonel Baratheon. He was nothing if not firm and determined in his beliefs of equality between all human beings, regardless of social stigmas.

Lyonel shook his head, "I do not care for praise. I serve the realm from the shadows. I always have, and always will. For I am not destined to be king. That burden will fall upon my brother's shoulder, who unfortunately, does not see it as such. He instead sees it as power to do whatever he desires."

"Then why do you help the realm if you are not going to be king?" Arya asked with genuine curiosity.

Lyonel looked her straight in the eye, "Because of Joffrey seeing the title of King as a privilege for him to do whatever he wishes. It is because of this foolish notion that Joffrey will fall as king."

Arya was silent before asking, "I heard my father say you helped the realm more than anyone else on the small council. Is it true?"

Lyonel shrugged, "I suppose. Without me, the crown would have been six million in debt instead of the three million we are in debt currently."

Arya's eyes widened, "Three million!?" She asks with disbelief evident in her voice and face. Lyonel nodded with a calm expression adorning his face. "You mean it was you who has been helping the realm all along? Not Jon Arryn?"

"The words of advice I offered were finally heard when I was at the age of nine. That was when I started to help the realm. But my father would only tell me of small matters. I was eleven when they would finally bring me news of our debts. By that time, it was at four and a half million. It only increased until I finally had enough of them and took matters into my own hand. Sending letters of my own, masking them as if they were sent by the crown. Father was furious, until he learned I had actually earned coin, instead of only digging the crown's debt deeper."

Arya had a look of wonder on her face. Her hero was truly only increasing in greatness in her eyes. "I can't believe you helped earn three million gold dragons for the crown."

"Even your father started doubting who the true Hand of The King was."

"He knows?"

Lyonel nodded, "The second day you were here in King's Landing."

* * *

 **Flashback**

"My prince, I would have words with you." Eddard states as his path crossed with Lyonel's in the hallway to Eddard's solar.

Lyonel turned around, "In your solar, or out here?"

"Out here is fine. I only have a single question for you." Lyonel nodded. "Yesterday, you and the council told me that if not for you, the crown would be three million gold dragons deeper in debt."

"Correct." Lyonel says, not boasting, but not bothering for arse-kissery in the form of false humility and modesty.

"It raises an interesting thought. Was it truly Jon Arryn who ruled… or was it you all along?"

Lyonel stared at Eddard with, yet again, an expressionless face, "Jon Arryn was a good man, no doubt. But in truth, he was as gutless as everyone else on the council when it came to defying orders from my father. Jon Arryn is a brave and honorable man. But he makes the same mistake with the king as a parent would make with a spoiled child."

"And what is that, my prince?" Eddard asked curiously.

"He is afraid to refuse the child. Jon Arryn would not refuse my father. Neither would anyone else in the council. Stannis would rarely speak as father never listens to him. Baelish could care less as he only obtains coins, knowing he would only earn more for himself while the realm suffers. Varys could truly not care less, yet the motives for such carelessness are unknown to me. Renly agrees with the king, part of why father favors him more than Uncle Stannis. But in the end, they all took no action again and again."

Lyonel was silent for a bit as he crossed his arms across his chest, "Tell me, Lord Stark, what do you do when you find yourself in a hole you cannot get out of?"

Eddard seemed thoughtful before he gave up with a shrug, "I know not."

Lyonel uncrossed his arms, "You stop digging. By doing nothing, the council dug the crown more and more into debt. When they continued to do nothing, they continued digging."

Eddard nodded and spoke in surprise and realization, "And then you took the shovel from their hands and began filling the hole, closer to the surface, by writing your own letters to Tywin Lannister and the others your father owed coin to. By taking matters into your own hand."

Lyonel nodded. Eddard laughed, which surprised Lyonel but he didn't show. "Your wit is not of Tyrion's, but of Tyrion and Tywin's put together, my prince."

Lyonel nodded wordlessly in gratitude. Eddard smiled at him, "Well, I must go to my new solar. I wish you a good day." They both parted to opposite way, Eddard to his solar and Lyonel to the other end. Eddard suddenly calls out, "Oh, and Arya wanted me to remind you about practice!" Lyonel turned around and bowed his head slightly in gratitude. He proceeded to make his way to Arya's location.

 **Flashback end**

* * *

"Lyonel?" He was shaken out of his thoughts. He looked at Arya. "What were you thinking about?"

Lyonel shook his head, "Nothing of import." He turned his head and looked down into the bowl of bloody water. _'I need to change the water before someone else enters my room.'_

Lyonel quickly picks up the bowl before walking over to the window of his room and pouring out the contents of the bowl. He put the bowl back on the table before turning to Arya, "Would you care to spar?"

Arya grinned and opened her mouth but was cut off by Lyonel raising his hand, "I know not why I bother to ask."

Arya only grinned more before she eagerly ran to the quarters where they would normally train. Arya had definitely trained hard, and so did Lyonel. Arya's skill was improving by each day, and it helped that she was a quick learner, just like Lyonel was. Yet, this was unfortunately countered by her temper and impulsiveness. She would take rash action during spars which quickly lead to her downfall. Yet, in turn, her determination and unrelenting eagerness to learn the art of the sword countered her temper.

Her body was growing fit for her age and would soon grow slightly muscular. Part of this was the new diet Lyonel had recommended to help her body build muscle and for her to grow. She had the same diet as him, which led to them always eating together after training. They would often converse about different things. Arya would mostly ask about training and swordplay or stories about legendary warriors. She was pleased to hear that since Lyonel had associates from other lands in Essos, including Yi Ti, he had many legends and stories to share.

What surprised Arya was his patience. Most would grow weary of all her questions, and the questions were more than usual seeing as Arya was speaking to her hero and role model. Yet Lyonel did not mind one bit. One word to describe Lyonel perfectly would be "tolerant". In fact, at times he would seem to enjoy talking to her. Something Arya's low self-esteem did not expect to happen. Even then, unknown to Arya, the only thing that kept Lyonel from revealing more times where he enjoyed her company was his expressionless face. Had she been able to tell by seeing the looks in his eyes, she would realize this.

She couldn't help her thoughts from wandering back to when Lyonel revealed his intent to protect her family as if it was his own. She was touched and comforted by the knowledge, that her hero would be her family's guardian angel. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed to be like the story of a hero knight swearing to protect his lady and her family from any and all harm. She then thought about how the mere touch of Lyonel on her cheek had affected her. It made her heart beat faster and her breath quicker. The feeling she had was foreign. She knew not what it meant but her mind pushed those thoughts away before she put her mind to that of practice.

* * *

 **A/N: *Puts on shitty Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation* I'm back, Baby! *End of shitty Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonation* Well, sorry for the one month wait. But as I said in one of my stories, My mother was extremely sick, and i was honestly too worried to do anything but take care of her. (No that I thin about it, I should have written a author's note on every one of my stories. But hey, look on the bright side. At least I didn't get your hopes up by making you think it was a new chapter.) You may also notice that I recreated the uh... "Hammer" scene from Drive. (Another scene recreated from Drive, I know. Hey, Lyonel's character was slightly inspired by Ryan Gosling's character in the movie.)**

 **This chapter is my longest by 6,482 words, not counting the words of this A/N. This chapter, I wanted to portray Lyonel's intelligence slightly and more of Lyonel's ruthlessness and fierce protectiveness. You might also notice that I was a bit more archaic in this chapter. Probably because I rewatched Spartacus. Be glad (Or disappointed) I didn't include all the sex scenes or curse words.**

 **Please review as it counts as motivation for me, even better if you can share some thoughts about the story and criticism. I would love to improve my writing, (If it needs improving, which it no doubt does)**

 **I also want to know what you guys think about Lyonel "recruiting" Samwell? Is it a good choice or a shitty one? Let me know in the reviews.**


	8. Dreams and Failures

Garrett walked alongside Daenerys, or 'Khaleesi' as she wanted to be referred by, through the bazaar. Garrett watched her change from a naïve and innocent little girl to a strong woman without fear. _'Fearlessness is a foolish notion. One I would see removed from Daenerys, lest it be her doom.'_ If Garrett was honest with himself, he did not think of her change as perfect. Her increasingly authoritative and stern commands towards others made her seem more arrogant in his eyes. Not always, only a few times. Yet it would only continue to grow.

But orders were orders. And Lyonel Baratheon, a man Garrett considered his brother, had ordered him to stop the assassination attempt on Daenerys that would no doubt happen soon.

He was broken out of his thoughts by the Daenerys' conversation with Ser Jorah, "Can't you help me make him understand?"

"The dothraki do things in the wrong time for the wrong reasons. Have patience, Khaleesi. We will go home, I promise you."

"My brother-" Daenerys cut herself off in hesitation before continuing, "My brother was a fool, I know, but he was the rightful heir to the seven kingdoms." Jorah laughed to himself. "Have I said something funny, Ser?"

Jorah looked at the ground in front of him, still smiling, "Forgive me, Khaleesi. But your ancestor, Aegon the Conquerer, didn't seize the seven kingdoms because over his right, he had no right to him. He seized them because he could."

"And because he had dragons," Dany added.

"Having a few dragons made some things easier," Jorah admitted.

Garrett finally spoke, "It made things much harder for the Reachlander and the Westerners."

Daenerys looked at him, confused, "Why is that?"

Garrett looked at her with small surprise, "You have read about the field of fire, haven't you?"

Daenerys looked thoughtful, "I swear I've heard the name before."

Garrett smiled in response, "Then you must have read the book I had given you. It was one of Balerion's, Meraxes' and Vhagar's greatest deeds. One of the most horrible, but still greatest. Five thousand men were burned alive in a matter of seconds, along with King Mern. Another ten thousand dead by sword, maces and arrows. Even more died thanks to burns and wounds."

Daenerys had a look of recognition in her eyes, "I remember now! King Loren of the Rock and King Mern Gardener tried to oppose Aegon by uniting their armies."

"Exactly."

Dany looked at Ser Jorah's expression, "You don't believe it."

Jorah sighed as he looked at her, "Have you ever seen a dragon, Khaleesi? I believe what my eyes and ears report. As for the rest, it was three hundred years ago, who knows what really happened?"

They all stopped walking as Ser Jorah rubbed his hands together and looked at the captain who was standing off in the distance. "I should seek out the merchant captain, see if he has any letters for me."

"Well, I'll come with you," Dany said.

"No, no. Don't trouble yourself. Enjoy the market," Ser Jorah finished with a smile. Garrett's eyes regarded him as he walked away. Lyonel had revealed Ser Jorah to be one of the Spider's birds. He doubted Jorah knew he was working for Lyonel.

"Come," Garrett said as he put his hand on Dany's shoulder. She turned around to look at him. Garrett smiled at her, "I believe I heard one of the merchants shouting out that he has dornish plums in his possession."

"Have you ever tasted them before?"

Garrett nodded, "I have. In all honesty, they're no different than normal plums other than the color."

Dany smiled, as did the servants behind her, as she was led by Garrett throughout the crowd of people. They were stopped by a man who addressed Daenerys and offered her wine. The merchant boasted of how his wine would convince Dany to name her first born after him.

"My son already has a name," Daenerys stated with an amused smile and voice. "But I'll try your summer wine. Just a taste."

The merchant had a look of surprise on his face, "My lady, you are from Westeros."

Doreah spoke from behind Dany, "You have the honor of addressing Daenerys of House Targaryen, Khaleesi of the Rider men and Princess of the seven kingdoms."

The man bowed slowly, "Princess."

Dany spoke with an amused voice, "Rise. I would still have that wine."

The merchant looked at the wine in his hand, "That? Dornish swill. Not worthy of a princess. I have a dry red from the Arbor. Nectar of the gods."

' _The god of death, no doubt,'_ Garrett said, yet doing nothing. He would wait to see what happens.

"Let me give you a cask," the merchant said excitedly as he walked over to bring it. "A gift!"

Dany smiled, "You honor me, Ser."

The man grabbed a cask and walked towards them again, "The honor… The honor is all mine."

Rakharo stepped forward, "Ah, ah, ah, ah." He grabbed the cask from the merchant's hands before walking away with it.

" _Rakharo_ ," Garrett called out in the dothraki tongue. The dothraki turned around. _"Bring the cask here."_

"Is something wrong?" Daenerys asks as she looks at Garrett.

"Me and Ser Garrett have a thirst," Ser Jorah said as he suddenly appeared behind them. His eyes regarded the merchant with suspicion.

"Indeed. Open it."

Rakharo roughly handed the cask to the man. The merchant looked at Ser Garrett, "The wine is for the Khaleesi, not for the likes of y-"

Garrett stepped forward, "I said… open it."

The man stared at him before shrugging and putting the cask on a barrel next to him. He proceeded to open it.

"Pour," the former heir to Bear Island commanded.

"I-it would be a crime to drink wine this rich without giving time to breathe."

Garrett glared at him, "Arrest me later. Now pour."

Dany looked at the merchant with suspicion, "Do as he says."

The merchant looked at her, and then at Garrett, "As the princess commands." He reluctantly picks up a cup before filling it with wine. He hands it to Garrett, who stares into the content of the wine before bringing it close to his nose and inhaling the scent. "Sweet, isn't it? Can you smell the fruit, Ser?" Garrett only stared at him in response. "Taste it, my lord. Tell me that is not the finest wine that has ever touched your tongue."

Garrett brought it closer to his lips before he stared at the merchant's eyes. He suddenly held it in front of the merchant himself, "You first."

"Me? I'm afraid I am not wor-"

Garrett cut him off, "Must I hold you down myself and force it down your throat?" The merchant stared at him before flashing an easy smile. He took the cup from Garrett's hand before slowly bringing it to his own lips.

He suddenly threw the cup to the ground and pushed Dany out of the way. He quickly grabbed the cask of wine and threw it at Rakharo, who caught it, before running past them. Ser Jorah attempted to pursue him, but was stopped by Garrett holding his hand to Jorah's chest, "No need." Garrett inhaled slightly before whistling loudly. A cry was heard from the sky, prompting Jorah to look up as he saw an unusually large eagle soaring through the sky. The eagle descended on the merchant with such speed, he seemed to be nothing more than a blur of colors. The merchant screamed as his right eye was clawed out by its talons and fell to the ground while holding his face. Rakharo quickly ran over to the assassin and pinned his arms to the ground, and not long after was joined by other dothraki.

Garrett grabbed Dany by the arm gently before leading her past the pinned assassin. The eagle suddenly appeared again and landed on his shoulders, taking care not to harm its master with its talons.

 **Lyonel**

Lyonel found himself lying on a beach, his leg in pain. Rain fell on the sands, drenching it and painting it brown. Lyonel looked down at his leg to see a piece of broken wood stuck in his leg. Blood stained a small round area around the wound. His expression did not change as his face was as expressionless and calm as ever. He refrained from touching the broken wood as to not aggravate his wound. _'I feel eyes on me,'_ Lyonel's instincts warned him. He snapped his head to the side to see a lion staring at him. Its pelt was colored pitch black, and its eyes were a deep, dark blue. It seemed to stare right into Lyonel's matching eyes. What surprised Lyonel was the size of it. It was much larger than a normal lion that Lyonel had read about in his books. Its feline features were more pronounced, making it look more ferocious and wild. Another factor for its ferocity was its mane, which was shorter but wilder than normal mane. Its muscles were more pronounced as well. Its teeth shocked Lyonel the most. Its teeth were longer and thicker than normal, and oddly enough, looked canine and curved. The end of it was as sharp as the end of Needle. It protruded from its mouth and was exposed, even when its mouth was closed. Its length ended right above the chin line.

In short, it resembled the result of a dire-lion, if such a thing ever existed, breeding with the mythical creature from Volantis. A saber-toothed tiger it was called, if Lyonel recalled correctly. It was said the saber-toothed tiger was extinct many years ago, as its fangs were rumored to contain magical essence and were hunted for it. Of course, all of this was a myth, a rumor of old.

It strode silently towards Lyonel, its face calm as still water. Its eyes confused Lyonel the most. The eyes portrayed realization and recognition. As if it had seen him before. Lyonel scanned his surroundings to try and find a weapon, but found none. He knew this was the end of him. There was no way he could kill a lion with a piece of wood sticking out of his leg. Lyonel suddenly felt relaxed, as if nothing would hurt him. He knew not why he did, considering a lion was about to devour him. But why did his mind not register the lion as a threat? It was as if his subconscious knew something he didn't. The lion finally arrived in front of him, it only stared at him. It looked at the wood stuck in his leg before it suddenly bit onto it. It easily pulled it out, making Lyonel simply close his eyes and frown at the pain, yet expressing nothing else to show his pain. He opened his eyes to see that the lion had disappeared. _'Why did it not kill me? Why was I not fearful of the fact that it was going to? Why did it help me? So many questions, yet all of them are left with the absence of answers._ ' Lyonel's intelligent mind immediately directed his eyes to the ground, scanning it for any prints that might show him where it had gone. But there was nothing. Not a single trace, not even an indication that it was ever standing in front of him. He looked at his leg to see that it had healed. His breeches were intact, with no holes or tear in the fabric. No trace that there was a large piece of wood in his leg a few seconds ago.

' _A dream, no doubt,"_ Lyonel's coldly rational mind observed.

He stood up before spotting a forest and walking into it. His feet sunk ever so slightly into the sand with every step. When Lyonel arrived, he looked up at the sky to see a storm raging, yet the storm was as silent as a shadow, with the exception of the sound of rain smacking against the ground. The smell of dry soil being soaked by rain filled his nostrils. A rain drop very nearly hit Lyonel in the eye, causing him to blink before look down as he wiped the rain drop from his face. When Lyonel did look down, the black lion suddenly stood in front of him. It stared at him as calmly as before. It suddenly turned around and sprinted through the forest at an amazing speed. Lyonel had no idea what possessed him to follow it, but his legs seemed to move on their own. Lyonel made no attempt to stop it. It was like his Baratheon hunt all over again. He struggled to keep up as his leg muscles burned along with his lungs. He ran with such speed, the trees seemed to blur past him. Lyonel's ears were filled with the sound of the air whizzing past his head as the twigs were stomped in half beneath his feet. Lyonel finally arrived outside of the forest and stopped to see the black lion standing in front of another lion, with normal fur. The lion looked old with… grey mane? _'Since when did a lion grow grey mane like a man grows grey hair?'_

Several other lions seemed to appear out of nowhere behind the old one. One of them had the body of a cub, yet its mane was fully developed like that of an adult. Another lion stood next to it, its green emerald eyes held a look of sadness and regret. Its body was the largest and strongest. Not a single one of the lions noticed Lyonel. As if he wasn't even there.

The two previously mentioned lions slowly made their way to the black lion's side. The old lion roared at them, disappointment and resentment in its eyes. The lion pack all bared their teeth at the black lion. Yet the lion stood unfazed, and firm, silent and staring, its face absent expression. The black lion suddenly let out a terrifying and echoing roar. The old gods themselves would have to be deaf not to have heard it. Lyonel felt his blood freeze as his entire body chilled at the sound.

Lyonel's head snapped around at the sound of howling. He saw five direwolves charging to the three lions' sides. Lyonel recognized the direwolves as the Stark children's pets. Nymeria stood to the right of the black lion. Its eyes stared at the black lion's. Her eyes held… affection? Lyonel's line of thought was interrupted as another howl, this one louder and more powerful, almost like a drawn out howl, was heard. Lyonel turned around to see an albino direwolf on top of a large rock, howling.

' _Ghost?'_ Lyonel was shocked when he saw that Ghost's howl seemed to shake the sky itself. Lyonel looked in the background of Ghost and saw a star falling from the sky. It arced over Ghost's silhouette. It left a trail of light in its wake, marking the sky with its fire.

Lyonel's eyes suddenly snapped open as knocks were heard on his door. He looked around to find himself in his room. He was lying on his bed, he realized. He sighed quietly to himself, _'Never a moments rest for me, is there?'_

 **Later**

Lyonel walked with Arya to their training grounds where Syrio was waiting for them. The gold cloaks were wasting their time trying to find the murderer that killed a Lannister commander and two of his closest soldiers. But little did they know that they were searching in the wrong side of the city. Not that Lyonel felt like pointing them in the right direction. The former Yi Ti slave probably had the majority of the whores paid off to lie, while the remaining soldier was dead from the Sweetsleep that Lyonel had slipped in. Yet Lyonel couldn't help but get an uneasy feeling, as if something bad was coming. Yet he had a feeling it wasn't going to be about the dead commander. He commanded his men to work more diligently, preparing the city for any kind of internal turmoil or conflict inside King's Landing. Some may have called him paranoid. Yet Lyonel remembered the wise words of his uncle Tyrion, _"Abundant caution does no harm, nephew. Remember these words the next time you may think yourself paranoid. Your paranoia may turn out to be your instincts warning you. I tell you this in hopes of you not finding it out the hard way."_ He took those words to heart.

His father's return was expected so Lyonel wouldn't have been surprised if his and Arya's training was interrupted from the announcement.

But Lyonel didn't expect it to happen like it did.

Lyonel span around in a circle and blocked a strike from Syrio's practice sword. As their blades locked, he pushed Syrio back with his own sword before he pushed Syrio's blade away to the side, breaking his defense. Or so he thought. Lyonel was countered with Syrio quickly and gracefully spinning around, mimicking Lyonel's move but with more beauty, before he smacked the practice sword on Lyonel's cheek. Syrio used the momentum from Lyonel's push to spin around and strike harder than normal. The training sword was raised in the air, and Lyonel's head was smacked to the side, his cheek reddened from the hard strike.

Syrio lowered his sword, "A wise trick to use is when you not only counter an opponent's move, but when you use their move against them. It is like a conversing with a snake. The snake's forked tongue will twist your words and their meaning on you. Twist your enemies' tactics and moves against them. Give them a taste of their own medicine, yet do not do so when they least expect it. For that is what they _will_ expect. Be unpredictable to all but yourself, and you will find it hard to face an enemy that will be skilled enough to counter your tactics."

Lyonel nodded before sending a glance towards Arya, who was watching off on the side, telling her to listen to the prudent advice given to them with just his eyes. Lyonel had pretended not to notice the occasional stares she was giving him or the silent gasp she made when Syrio struck him. It was only training; he knew not why she was acting so strangely. Lyonel raised his own practice sword before the door to their room suddenly opened. Lyonel turned around quickly to see a gold cloak with a nervous expression on his face. He looked slightly out of breath and stuttered. As if he was hesitating to tell them something.

"My prince… it's your father, he's… returned from the hunt but they- an accident happened."

Arya had a surprised expression on his face, same with Lyonel. They turned to look at each other. Lyonel looked back at the gold cloak before demanding that he lead them to Lyonel's father.

The soldier led him to the room where his father's deathbed was at. He entered the room, catching everyone's attention. Ser Barristan, Renly, Cersei, Eddard and Joffrey all looked at him. Joffrey sat on the bedside, next to his dying father, while Eddard stood the end of Robert's bed along with Ser Barristan and Renly. Cersei was watching off from the side. He walked the steps before walking to his father. The air was tainted with the reek of rotten death. Lyonel did not have an expressionless look adorning his face. Yet it wasn't sad or angry either. It was almost… calm.

"Everyone leave." Robert commanded. Cersei tried to protest, but was interrupted by Robert commanding them again. He motioned for Eddard to stay as well.

"Lyonel" Robert said, "Come closer." Lyonel obeyed his father, walking closer to his bedside. "Hold my hand." Robert said as he held out his hand weakly.

Lyonel stared at his hand before he slowly placed his right hand in his father's.

Robert sent a weak smile towards Lyonel, "My son. My flesh and blood. By the gods, I couldn't be more proud of you. You have grown into a man worthy of admiration and respect." His smile grew, "If only you weren't as fucking stern as Stannis." Robert's short laugh quickly transitioned into a violent cough. Lyonel felt Robert's hand tightening around his, every cough. After Robert calmed down, he sent a sad look towards his second son, "Oh, if only you were born first, Lyonel. You would have been a great king. I know I've been a shit father. I shouldn't even be calling myself one. I was never meant to be a father. But I'm glad I was… because I brought you into this world. You're a good lad, Lyonel. I know that if one looks past all that violence and ruthlessness, there's a genuinely good man. I know that you will ultimately bring nothing but good into this world... Take care of that girl. Love her. Care for her and protect her. Cherish every moment you spend with her. Like I could not with Lyanna."

' _Yet you could have with Tommen and Myrcella. You should have cherished every moment of being with them._ ' Lyonel's expression didn't change. Not even for a second.

Robert's expression turned serious, "Be honest with me, Lyonel."

"I always have."

Robert let out a short chuckle, "I know. Tell me… will you mourn me, Lyonel? Will you feel anything when I've passed from this gods-forsaken world?"

Eddard stared at Lyonel, waiting expectantly for an answer. He knew Lyonel held no love for his father. But in the end, he was still his father. Lyonel must feel something, especially since his father was dying slowly in front of him.

Lyonel stared at Robert before he made his answer known, "No."

Eddard stared on in surprise and shock of how apathetic Lyonel truly was in his response, while Robert grimaced, "That word alone pains me more than this fucking wound."

' _You have no one to blame but yourself for it.'_ Lyonel said in his head, but stayed quiet.

"And yet… I have no one to blame but myself for it." Robert said with regret evident in his voice. Lyonel would have been surprised by the coincidence, but couldn't help not caring. "I truly wish I spent more time with Tommen and Myrcella. But I was too big a fool. I spent so much time not being able to let go of the past, and reliving old memories when instead, I should have created new ones with you and your siblings. I'm so sorry." Robert waited for Lyonel to answer. Or to at least show some sort of reaction. Robert knew that Lyonel wasn't heartless. He was far from it, actually.

Lyonel just stared, before surprising Robert, "…Thank you." Robert gave off a big smile as Lyonel put his other hand on top of Robert's, covering it. "I may yet feel something from your passing." Lyonel said. Robert felt his heart and mind at ease from Lyonel's words.

"Thank you, my son. You have no idea how happy you've made a dying fool." Lyonel had a ghost of a smirk on his face, which went unnoticed by Robert and Eddard. "Tell Tommen and Myrcella I'm sorry. Tell them that my last thoughts will be with you and your siblings."

Lyonel nodded before going quiet, as if contemplating something. "I will... father."

Robert smiled in joy, "Lyonel, that's the first time you've called me father since you were eight years old." A tear of joy fell from Robert's eye. Lyonel wiped the tear with his thumb before placing his hand on top of Robert's again. Robert smiled before nodding towards Lyonel in gratitude. He then nodded towards the door, "Go on, Lyonel. I need to speak with Eddard."

Lyonel nodded before he let go of his father's hand and stood up. He nodded towards Eddard before making his way to the door. Lyonel was stopped by his father calling out his name. Lyonel turned around and looked at his dying father. "Give Tyrion my gratitude… for raising you when I did not."

Lyonel stared at his father before nodding. He turned around and made his way out of the room. Lyonel placed his back against the closed doors before closing his eyes, ignoring the two kingsguard members guarding their respective sides of the two doors. It felt like he was leaving something behind, never to see it again. To be fair, he was. It didn't feel like he was finally freed from a burden, like he thought he would when his father died. Yet he didn't feel sad, but he didn't feel happiness and relief either. His eyes opened quickly in realization. He was about to have an even bigger burden placed on his shoulders.

Lyonel walked over to the group of five standing in front of him. Varys, Barristan, Renly, Arya and Pycelle all looked at him. Barristan and Renly held sadness in their eyes, while Pycelle faked it and Varys was simply as calm as ever. Arya held concern in her eyes. Barristan stepped forward, "He was reeling from the wine… he told us to step aside but… I failed him."

Lyonel stared at him before shaking his head, "No. He failed himself."

Barristan tried to speak but was cut off by Lyonel, "You cannot stop a man from dying of old age. Just as you cannot stop a fucking fool from his own stupidity." Lyonel spoke no more words to Barristan, his ever returning silence dawning on his tongue, but only to be removed by Arya.

There was no shock from anyone but Arya, who never knew how much Lyonel hated his father. She stepped forward, "Are you alright?"

Lyonel looked at her and shook his head before smiling, "Yes, do not worry. But I do appreciate the concern." Arya nodded shyly. She looked like she wanted to ask something.

Lyonel knew exactly what, "I will join you and train soon, but not now."

Arya looked at him in surprise before nodding and running off.

Lyonel felt confused. What was he supposed to do now? Where was he meant to go? Lyonel decided to make his way to his room and rest. It was better than standing around and doing nothing.

When he arrived, he immediately sat down on the chair and closed his eyes. He relaxed for a while, content as nothing existed except for serenity and harmony in his mind. The calm chirping of the birds eased him, yet the beautiful sound was marred by the sound of humans running around and hurrying, panicking about their own little problems. It was surprising how Lyonel was able to hear it, even from The Red Keep. Lyonel opened his eyes to see a small blue bird on the table in front of him. He held out his finger, and the bird quickly jumped on it. He held the small bird in front of him, inspecting it.

Lyonel started talking silently to the bird, as though it would understand, "I wonder. How would it be to live like an animal? Absent worries other than hunting in search of food. No sordid tongues lying and deceiving for their own profit. No one deciding over another based on the so-called "Birth-right". No worrying about coming late to work or to a maester's lessons. Only humans are struck with such foolish fears. Fear of running out of time. Fear of betrayal from the ones closest to you. Or even fear of losing your freedom. How come a greedy, selfish and warmongering creature became the most advanced? What warrants such a vile and hate filled species to rise above all other creatures? Does conflict and hatred always prevail in the end? Or is it nothing more than another cruel jest from the gods?" The bird only turned its head oddly at him before it chirped.

Lyonel just petted the bird on its head while a small smile decorated his mouth, "Never have I heard wiser words."

A knock was heard on his door. Lyonel sighed before he stood up and walked over to the open window. He held out his finger in the air, urging the bird to fly away, which it did. Lyonel turned around and walked towards his door. His hand gripped the hand tightly before he pulled the door open. A Stark soldier stood in front of him with a somber expression, "My prince… your father…"

Lyonel sighed before the bells were suddenly rung. _'Those bells always signaled the death of a king.'_ Lyonel nodded towards the soldier, asking him to lead the way.

Lyonel arrived in front of the doors where he left his father for the last time. He opened them to see Cersei and Joffrey standing next to Robert's dead corpse. Lyonel walked over to the bedside, ignoring Cersei's and Joffrey's existence. He stared at his father's face. _'He died with a peaceful mind. A gift I was obliged to give.'_ Lyonel was broken out of his thoughts by Joffrey.

"Father is dead, brother. I know we have had our differences. But we must set aside such petty and selfish matters for the good of the realm. We must stand together, united by circumstance. Our trust may yet be forged by the fall of our common enemies." Lyonel turned around to see Joffrey holding out his hand. "Take my hand, brother. And we will stand united against any who would wish us harm." Lyonel glanced towards his mother, who encouraged him with a smile and a nod towards Joffrey. Lyonel suddenly smiled, surprising the two. He took Joffrey's hand and shook it before his other hand grasped Joffrey's shoulder. Lyonel stared into Joffrey's eyes before nodding and cupping Joffrey's cheek while grinning.

Cersei felt overjoyed at the union of her sons, to see Lyonel smiling, no less.

Lyonel finally spoke, the happy looking grin still plastered on his face, "I would sooner die than to bow down to the person who tormented Tommen and Myrcella."

Before either of them could react to his words, Lyonel's head suddenly shot forward as he head-butted Joffrey, breaking his nose. Joffrey flew back and fell on the ground. Cersei gasped in shock before Lyonel suddenly stormed out of the room. Cersei ran after him, "Lyonel! Stop, please!" Lyonel continued walking down the hallway. "Please, stop, I beg of you, listen!"

Lyonel stopped before slowly turning around. He stared at her, demanding a quick answer wordlessly.

Cersei's eyes were pleading, "Please, do not make me watch as my sons tear away at each other, please!"

"I will not give him my obedience. I refuse to allow him the satisfaction of watching me bow before him as I humiliate myself on his every whim. I looked into his eyes, I know the true intent behind them, mother. I can only promise not to kill him." Lyonel's expression and voice was that of anger.

Cersei had a look of disbelief, "What kind of promise is that?! Isn't it natural for you to not kill your own brother?"

Lyonel growled, "This is Joffrey we are speaking of, remember? It wasn't meant to please you, mother."

Lyonel turned around before he walked away. Cersei was surprised when he stopped only after a few steps. "Let me ask you something." He said before he waved his finger at her while pacing back and forth. He seemed to hesitate or conflict on whether to ask or not, "Something I had been musing about. An idea that festered until I finally put some thought into it." He finally came to his decision as he stopped and turned to look at her, "Father was wounded because the boar got to him. The boar only got to him because of too much wine from his squire. Lancel Lannister, the squire you recommended." Cersei felt dread wash over her. "Do you know what I'm thinking?" Lyonel asks as he struggles to keep the anger out of his voice.

Cersei shook her head as she struggled to keep her composure, "I know not, my son."

Lyonel stared at her, before shaking his head slowly in realization, backing away slowly with an expression that continued to grow angrier by each word, "You treacherous piece of shit! You're fucking dead." He suddenly turns around and starts to run before roaring, "YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!"

Cersei looked on with an expression of horror marring her face, "LYONEL!" She called out loud. Lyonel was already gone by the time she shouted out his name a second time.

 **Eddard**

Eddard walked with two of his soldiers behind him. He spotted Renly leaning against a pillar. Renly in turn spotted Eddard and walked over to him, "Lord Stark, a moment?" He looked at the guards behind Eddard, "Alone if you will."

Eddard around and nodded towards his guards, dismissing them. He turned back to look at Renly when they had finally left. Renly stared at Eddard, "He named you protector of the realm."

Eddard nodded, "…He did. And he named Lyonel crown prince."

Renly stared at him in surprise before his expression turned back to normal, "She won't care. I can put a hundred swords in your command. We can help put Lyonel on the throne. We need to strike now, before Cersei puts Joffrey on the throne instead."

After what Lyonel told Eddard about Renly, he couldn't help but be skeptical, "At what price?"

"Break off the betrothal between Lyonel and your daughter, Arya." Eddard stared at him in surprise, and Renly continued, "I am sure you can find a reason to do so without upsetting your bannermen-"

Eddard did not look pleased, "By fabricating a false cause for doing so?"

Renly sighed, "I know your honor won't allow you to. But sometimes, we must make sacrifices for the greater good. If Margaery Tyrell and Lyonel were to marry, it would gain us all the soldiers of the Reach. Think about it, half of the seven kingdoms and more with The Reach as our allies. There is no way we would lose this war. If there would even be one. I doubt Cersei would be foolish enough to think that she can go to war against more than half of the kingdoms."

Eddard stared at Renly while contemplating his decision. Arya didn't think anyone would notice, but Eddard could tell that her feelings were starting to show and grow for Lyonel. Lyonel was unreadable to Eddard, but from what Tyrion had told Eddard after the betrothal was announced, Lyonel wouldn't be able to tell the difference between friendship and love if someone had written it all over the walls of his room. He was apparently as naïve as a newborn babe when it came to being social. But Eddard had seen how Lyonel protected his family and Eddard's. He had seen how happy Arya had been. Arya would speak about Lyonel and how they trained almost every time Eddard brought up the subject of Lyonel. Oddly enough, in the last few days, she only spoke about him and rarely the training.

Eddard remembered Tyrion's words about Lyonel vividly.

 **Two and A Half Moons Ago**

" _I must speak to you about a subject of import, Lord Stark. It is about Lyonel, I have heard about his betrothal to your daughter." Tyrion Lannister said. Eddard crossed paths with the Lannister in the evening to ask about Lyonel. He was surprised when Tyrion brought up the subject before he did._

" _Lyonel is a good lad, a loyal one. But he has few friends. He always had a hard time making them, even before the incident with the murderer. Lyonel always was the black sheep of the house. Or as my father likes to say, 'lion'."_

 _Eddard could not help but be impatient in the presence of a Lannister, but knew the importance of being a good host, "Forgive me if I come off as rude, Lord Tyrion. But what is your point?"_

 _Tyrion sighed, "My point, Lord Stark, is that Lyonel is not a normal child. His mind is not normal. He seemed incapable of feeling regret or remorse, with the exception of the ones close to him, even as a child. His mind made him unable to feel empathy towards others."_

" _Are you trying to tell me he is just another Prince Joffrey?"_

 _Tyrion chuckled, "Gods no. Lyonel is far better than that, for he is not cruel or sadistic, only practical. Joffrey makes no exceptions for anyone. What I meant to say was: Lyonel is ruthless towards his enemies. He uses anything at his disposal to rid him and his close ones of danger. I am telling you this because he might be hard to get used to as someone with the moral compass of yours, Lord Stark. You might see some things he does as wrong. But the truth is he does so to protect his loved ones. Some things he does may even shock you. But know that Lyonel is a good man, deep down. Even if he doesn't know it himself."_

 _Eddard stared at him before nodding, "My gratitude. This knowledge will prepare me for Lyonel, and help me forgive his shortcomings in the future."_

 _Tyrion smiled, "Now, onto matters that may concern your daughter and Lyonel's relationship."_

" _What do you mean?" Lord Stark asked in confusion._

 _The smile didn't leave Tyrion's face as he spoke in a jesting tone, "Lyonel is very intelligent, in warfare, politics and even court, that is undisputable. But being social? Gods no… especially when it comes to courtship. He is socially incompetent, not in the way that he stutters like a fool. More so that he is as oblivious to love as a blind man is oblivious to a lantern being swung back and forth in front of his eyes. Everything social is black and white to him. He is blind to the obvious, and does not know, nor understand the complexity of relationships and several social interactions and their meaning. One must shout it in his ears if someone is attracted to him. If your daughter happens to fall for him, which I have no doubt in my mind that she will, you'll have to tie Lyonel to a chair and beat it into his head that she has."_

 _Eddard stared at him with an amused expression, "I cannot tell if you jest or not."_

 _Tyrion mocked surprise, "Jest?! Oh, how I wish I did."_

 _Eddard couldn't help but laugh to himself at the image of him tying Prince Lyonel to a chair and shouting in his ear that Arya is in love with him before beating his head with a large stick. Tyrion couldn't help himself either as he laughed along with Eddard. The fact that Eddard rarely laughed made the situation even more amusing for Tyrion._

 **Present**

Eddard made his decision then and there, "I will not upset my daughter or potentially upset the prince. You will have to present this proposal to your nephew. I refuse to be the one that will separate them by force."

Eddard wasted no more breath with Renly as he walked past him and to his solar to meet with Baelish. He had gained Baelish's loyalty and was to discuss further planning of how to put Lyonel on the throne. He despised lying and deceiving, but even the most honorable man would make an exception for someone as arrogant and bold as Petyr Baelish.

 **Lyonel**

Lyonel stared at the paper in his hand. A copy of his father's last will, given to him by a messenger sent to him by Lord Stark. His father named him crown prince. He was to be a king. His mother would not be happy. Joffrey would be furious. Lyonel only saw this as another task he had to take into his own hands, again. He didn't care about his own opinion or what he wanted, it had never been about Lyonel before. Why would it be about him now when seven kingdoms are at stake?

Lyonel froze as he felt the faintest of vibrations under his feet, and the faintest of sounds ringing in his ears. He quickly stood up before rushing to his window and opening the covers. His ears were instantly assaulted by the sound of a loud horn calling out. Lyonel's eyes widened. It was the same horn he had ordered his men to blow in case of evacuation. The city would most likely be confused as to what was happening, a perfect cover for Lyonel if he ever needed to go through the streets.

He immediately ran to his door before opening it. He was surprised to see a panicked Jon standing in front of him, "Lyonel, we need to hurry!"

"I know! What has happened?"

"Father has been imprisoned and now your mother has sent out men to kill the rest!" Lyonel was shocked by the revelation and tried to inquire, but was stopped by Jon, "I will explain the rest later; even I don't know the entire truth. But right now, we must leave!"

Lyonel nodded, "Stay behind me, you cannot fight properly yet, so it's best to leave the fighting to me- Don't argue! We need to find Arya and Sansa!"

Jon reluctantly nodded as he followed Lyonel. His leg pained him occasionally whenever he would put too much pressure, yet he endured.

Lyonel instantly went to find Syrio, as Arya would no doubt be with him. The training yard was around the corner in front of him as he heard voices. He hid around the corner and held his hand up to stop Jon. He recognized the one speaking as Ser Meryn's voice, "-your father wants to see you."

Next, he heard Syrio's, "And why is it that Lord Eddard is sending Lannister men, in place of his own? I wonder."

Lyonel could almost feel the glare Meryn was sending Syrio, "Mind your place, dancing master. This is no concern of yours."

Arya spoke next, "My father wouldn't send you." Lyonel heard the sound of most likely Arya picking up a wooden sword. "Now, I don't have to come with you if I don't want to."

Ser Meryn laughed, "Take her."

Syrio interjected, "Are you men, or dogs that you would harm a child?"

Lyonel barely heard the voice of a Lannister soldier, "Out of my way, little man."

"I am Syrio Forel."

The soldier growled, "Foreign bastard!" Lyonel heard his blade unsheathed, followed by the sound of the soldier being knocked on his arse by Syrio.

"And you will be speaking to me with more respect."

"Kill the braavosi. Bring the girl." Meryn commanded. Lyonel's hand went to the blade at his side. Oh, he would relish the feeling of his sword piercing Meryn. He quickly turned the corner and unsheathed his sword swiftly, but quietly. All the inhabitants of the room were surprised and shocked to hear Ser Meryn's pained gasp. They turned to look at him and were even more shocked to see Meryn being slowly lifted into the air with a sword sticking out of his gut. The blade was pulled out as Meryn's body was thrown to the side like a ragdoll, surprising everyone beyond belief. Arya was relieved and overjoyed to see Lyonel, while Syrio looked impressed with his strength.

Lyonel glared at the Lannisters, while speaking to Syrio, "Syrio. Perhaps it is best you leave these dogs to me."

Syrio smiled, "As you wish, young boy."

The Lannister's didn't dare to strike him, either fearing Lyonel or what his mother would do to them if he was harmed. Lyonel suddenly lunged forward as he lifted his sword with ease and brought it down on a soldier's head, splitting it in half before he had any time to react. The speed shocked his opponents. Lyonel ducked under a swing that cut of the already-dead man's head, or what was left of it, and sweeped the man behind him off his feet. Lyonel pulled out the hidden knife in his waist and pierced the man's skull, killing him. He pulled out the knife, and shocked even Syrio when he threw it into the last soldier's head. The man's eyes widened, yet did not utter a sound. The man's corpse fell to its knees before falling on its face. The knife was pushed deeper in and protruded from the back of his head.

Lyonel swiftly stood up and turned to Syrio and Arya, "We need to move. Now."

He wasted no time as he walked outside. Arya was glad to see Jon was with them and greeted him with a hug. Lyonel commanded them to follow. They moved through the great labyrinth known as the Red Keep's hallways and corridors. Lyonel knew this labyrinth like the back of his hand, thanks to his photographic memory. He remembered every corner, every hallway and every little stairway. They swiftly arrived in the dungeons with the dragon skulls staring at them. Lyonel spotted his own men waiting for him. One of them approached him, "My prince. We are ready to leave."

"I am not. Take them with you," he said as he motioned for the three behind him. "I must find my younger sibli-"

"We have taken precautions, my prince. Your siblings are safe. As is the fat tub of goo." The man was smacked behind the head by another. "Oy! Sorry, my prince. I meant the Tarly boy."

Lyonel nodded, "Your forethought will not go forgotten, or unrewarded. But there is still something I must bring with me. It is too important." The man tried to protest, but Lyonel would have none of it, "Do as I command! Take them with you. Escort them outside of King's Landing, and send some men to wait for me here."

Lyonel turned around and walked, but felt surprise as someone grabbed his hand. He knew it belonged to Arya when she pleaded, "No! Whatever it is, it's not worth it! We need to leave! Together."

Lyonel looked at her and felt his heart warm at her words. "Arya, this is important to me. I must do this. Do not fret, I will be back soon. You just stay safe, promise me." Arya nodded reluctantly before she let go of his hand. Lyonel's gaze lingered on her before he turned around and ran up the stairway out of the dungeon.

Arya stared after him, even as she felt Jon grabbing her shoulders, "We need to leave, Arya. He'll be back." She slowly walked backwards while staring after him before turning around and running.

 **Later**

Lyonel stood in front of the Sept of Baelor, hidden among the crowds as he wore a cloak. His eyes were hidden by shadows while his nose and mouth were exposed to the sunlight. He stared on as Eddard 'confessed' to his supposed crimes. Lyonel's eyes swiftly shifted targets between Lord Stark, and Lyonel's men hidden among the crowd along with him.

He waited for them to get into position as he listened to Lord Eddard, "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. And Hand of The King." He swallowed before turning to look at Sansa, who nodded as she stood beside the queen and Joffrey. He turned back to the crowd, "I have come before you to confess treason." Joffrey and Cersei smirked. "But not my treason! I speak of your queen's and Joffrey Water's treason!" The crowd gasped as everyone, including Sansa stared on in shock. Lyonel's eyes widened in surprise and jarring shock, "Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen are all bastards! BORN FROM INCEST! The queen and her brother, the Kingslayer, have committed adultery, and the result stands before you!" Eddard stared at Joffrey, who glared at him in shock and anger. Lyonel was shaken to his very core. "You do not believe me! It does not matter! On his deathbed, King Robert Baratheon named Lyonel Baratheon, The Silent Storm, heir to the Iron Throne!"

"OFF WITH HIS HEAD!" Joffrey shouted in rage.

The crowd roared in turmoil as shouts drowned out any other sounds. Yet all Lyonel heard was the rasping of valyrian steel as Ice was unsheathed by Ser Ilyn Payne. The sound of his calm breathing filled his ear as his eyes spotted out his men. They were in position. Good. Lyonel slowly made his way through the crowd, parting the sea of men and women as he pushed them out of his way. His legs slowly started moving faster and faster with every second, until he was finally running.

Lyonel shocked everyone to silence when he pulled out his blade and leaped at Ser Ilyn, who had Ice held above his head and was preparing to bring it down on Eddard's neck. Yet it was his roar that shocked the crowd. The terrifying sound was similar to that of a mighty and ferocious beast. His roar rang throughout the entire Sept. His blade was pointed at Payne's neck. Lyonel pierced his throat with his sword as he landed on the King's Justice before swiftly pulling it out and cutting Eddard's bindings. Lyonel's men made quick work of the soldier's as they came up from behind and sliced their throats. Lyonel handed Eddard Ice, "Back to back!" Eddard's eyes widened as he recognized the prince. He nodded before lifting his blade up. The Silent Storm and The Quiet Wolf stood back to back as they fended off man-at-arms after man-at-arms. Lyonel mindlessly slashed, stabbed and hacked away in blind fury. He kicked and punched and struck with the pommel of his sword.

He heard a cry of pain and turned around quickly enough to see Eddard's chest being slashed.

' _NO!'_ Lyonel shouted in his head. He pulled Eddard down on the ground before lifting his blade up and bringing it down diagonally, bisecting the man in two. The man's half fell to the ground as did his organs with a disgusting splat. One of his men immediately grabbed Lord Stark from the ground and carried him through the crowd while his companions fended off the crowd.

Lyonel glared at Joffrey, with the intent of murder. Lyonel grunted as he felt a sudden pain in his shoulder. He was falling off the platform and groaned painfully as he landed on the hard ground. He looked at his shoulder to see an arrow sticking out. He grabbed onto it and snapped it off before throwing it to his side. He stood slowly and glared at the archer who had shot him while holding his wounded shoulder. The archer prepared another arrow when he saw Lyonel's gaze landing on Joffrey again.

"NO!" Lyonel watched in surprise as Cersei pushed the archer off of the platform, and the arrow went flying into a poor civilian's throat. Lyonel stared at her in surprise. She recognized him. She saved him. His own mother. She _did_ care about him. Lyonel forgot all pain and hate for a fraction of a second and remembered the promise he made his mother. He couldn't bring himself to harm her in such a way. Not now, when she proved her love for him.

Lyonel turned to look at Sansa, who hadn't recognized him. _'FUCK!'_ Lyonel shouted mentally in frustration. He turned around and caught up with Lord Eddard, who was being carried away. He sent a final glance towards Joffrey, _'I will not kill you. That pleasure belongs with another. I will save Sansa from you, and I will make sure you won't torment another person ever again.'_

 **Hours Later**

Lyonel watched as Eddard lay in his deathbed, with his two children beside him. Arya sobbed as tears fell down her cheek. Jon's eyes welled with tears as he stared at his dying father, still not believing that it is happening right before his eyes. Eddard smiled weakly as he wiped Arya's tears, "Don't cry, sweet wolf. It's alright." Eddard's mind went to Baelish, _'What a fool I was. I thought I was the one deceiving Baelish when it was the other way around.'_

Arya shook her head, and spoke with a morose and heartbroken voice, "No… no, it's not. Why did it have to be you?"

Eddard chuckled, "I don't know. It seems the Old Gods need me in the afterlife. But shed no tears for me." He turned to look at Jon, "Neither of you. I'm joining Brandon, father and Lyanna in the afterlife. Don't worry." Eddard smiled at Jon, "I'm so proud of the man you've become. Have I ever told you your laugh reminded me of your mother so much? You had all of my looks, but you harbored your mother's laughter. Gods, I miss her so much."

Jon's lips trembled, "W-who… Who was she?"

Eddard closed his eyes, "She was the most beautiful creature there ever was. Her eyes were amethyst violet, her voice like a choir of angels. Her kindness knew no bounds, and neither did her compassion. I love Catelyn, but your mother held half of my heart. It died with her."

Jon's voice trembled, "What was her name?"

Eddard's smile grew as he opened his eyes to look at her, "Ashara… Ashara Dayne was her name. Where do you think you got your skill with a blade from? Your uncle was the Sword of The Morning."

Lyonel stared at him in surprise, as did Arya while Jon swallowed as tears began to fall slowly, "Did… did she love me?"

Eddard stared at him, "She loved you from the moment you opened your eyes."

Jon nodded slowly as a small smile crept up on his face, "Thank you."

Eddard only smiled in response. He turned to look at Lyonel before motioning him to come over, "My prince, come here."

Lyonel walked over to Eddard's side, next to Arya, "No formalities. Not now."

Eddard chuckled, "Of course, Lyonel. All are equal in the eyes of death. You said so yourself."

Lyonel stared at him with an unreadable expression, "Was it true? Are they my half-siblings?"

Eddard's smile fell as he nodded, "Aye, it is. I'm sorry you had to find out in such a way."

"I doubt there is a good way to find such a thing out," Lyonel said.

Eddard chuckled in response, "Unfortunately not. Give Ice to Robb. He is the Lord of Winterfell and the head of this house now. He must have it." He turned to look at his daughter, "I wish I could be there to-"Eddard suddenly started coughing violently. The pain in his chest hurt the most. Once he calmed down, Eddard continued, his voice had turned exhausted and raspy, "I wish I could be there on your wedding day, to hear your laughter and to see your smiles. One day, you two will grow to love each other. Of that, I have no doubt." He looked at Lyonel again, "Keep her safe, Lyonel. Keep her safe, no matter what. I know there is no greater victory than to die fighting for the ones you hold closest." He turned to look at Jon; a small yet amused smirk adorned his pale face, "The princess…. I never thought you to be so ambitious, Jon… I know you will make her happy."

Lyonel suddenly spoke, "I feel more sorrow and pain for you than I ever did for my father." Eddard looked at him in surprise, as did Arya and Jon. Lyonel simply kept staring as he swallowed the lump in his throat, "Says something about you, doesn't it, Eddard?" Eddard smiled at hearing the prince all him by his first name.

"I suppose it does… Tell Robb I'm proud of the man he's become; tell my family I love them. And that I will be waiting for them, in the afterlife. Tell them I would never forgive them if they arrive before their time."

Lyonel nodded. Even breathing became an arduous task for Eddard. Eddard knew he only had a few seconds left. He smiled as he stared straight. The last name he uttered at that moment would carve itself into Lyonel's memory forever. "I'm coming, my love…" Eddard finally sighed out his last word, "Ashara…" Eddard's chest froze until his entire body went limp, dying with a smile on his face.

"No!" Arya cried out. "No!" Every sob burdened Lyonel with feelings of guilt. He wanted to hold Arya close to him and never let go until she felt well again. But he didn't dare to, not after failing her. Jon walked over instead and hugged her tightly as his own tears poured freely as he sobbed quietly to himself.

Lyonel stared at Eddard's body. A voice from the dark, twisted corner of Lyonel's mind whispered, _"This is your doing. Your failure, your denial and ignorance has caused this. You should have known this would happen. You knew; you felt it in your guts, your instincts warned you, yet you didn't want to believe it. And now, she hates you. Arya will never look at you the same, ever again."_

Lyonel swallowed the lump in his throat, only for it return and thicken with every anguished sob from Arya.

' _What have I done?'_

* * *

 **A/N: Surprise! I rewrote the first three chapters and I am planning to rewrite the fourth while writing the ninth chapter. I didn't change much of the plot and what happened. I simply made it more appealing for readers by improving the language by making it more archaic and whatnot.**

 **Also, in my haste to apologize for not notifying you guys of the reason for my month long absence, I forgot to say that she had already healed. Which is why I started writing again. But I appreciate the support from you guys, as does my mother. She was overjoyed to hear that even strangers on the internet wished her well. (Strangers to her, I mean).**

 **As for the story, I'm going to write the parts with Dany and Garrett in the next chapter, most of it will be in flashbacks. I also wanna hear your guys' guesses on Lyonel's dream. I wanna hear what you think it means.**

 **Ninazu: Love the AC reference. Good thing that you reminded me about Lyonel building public housings and shit for the commoners, because now I can do exactly what you said I should do.**

 **372259: First off, I love your name. Really original and deep :) Second, Glad to hear that you're liking the interactions between Arya and Lyonel. Sorry to disappoint you about them not having some more fluff before things went to shit. I really appreciate your support of the story.**

 **Kaioo: Way ahead of you, buddy. (Not gonna say anything more.)**


	9. Dawn of War

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. But technically it wasn't that long since half a month ago, I put up the rewrite of chapter four. So you actually only waited not much longer than half a month.**

 **But anyways, let's continue.**

 **I should mention that I aged Arya up to 13. But since her nameday is in this chapter, she's going to be 14.**

 **I started um... "Spicing" up Arya's and Lyonel's relationship a bit in this chapter.**

 **I also lowered Lyonel's skill level more since he'd be a bit too overpowered and it also makes Jon more useful in the story as he is better at protection Lyonel than Lyonel himself.**

 **Now then...**

 **...**

 **...**

 **...**

 **The hell you still waiting for?**

 **Well, go on. Start reading, don't be shy.**

* * *

Eyes were on him, eyes belonging to northern lords as they watched the second born prince carry the body of their former liege to the main tent. Eddard Stark was carried on the Stark banner. Lyonel and Jon, whose leg had healed, stood in the front as their hands gripped their respective corners, with Jory Cassel and a Stark soldier did the same in the back. The prince's expression had turned from blank to a soft frown ever since the death of Lord Stark. But at that moment, his expression was only melancholy. He looked as if he was born a Stark. His other hand grasped the hilt of a giant blade. Few recognized it as Ice. Jon's expression was ever the same, somber and brooding. They carried him to the main tent, where Eddard's family stood waiting.

The moment Eddard's body was set down in the middle of the tent, Catelyn's tears fell from her eyes. She fell on her knees as she hugged Eddard's body tightly, resting her head on his ruined chest. She did not even care if Jon was in the same room. She just forgot all hatred, and felt only grief. Robb's hands tightened into a fist, his face a mixture of fury and mourning as tears dripped like rain down his cheeks. They had all heard of Eddard's unfortunate demise. Yet they still couldn't believe what their eyes were telling them.

They were all surprised when Lyonel's robust voice spoke, his expression still melancholic as he stared at Eddard's still body, "I tried to. I truly did… but no matter how much thought I put into the plan of rescuing him, no matter how many precautions I took… it didn't matter. And now you are the ones paying for my incompetence… I'm sorry."

"No," Jon's firm voice said as he looked up from his father's corpse to Lyonel. "You have nothing to apologize for. Things would have turned out far worse than it has. You saved Arya from Meryn Trant, and you brought back father's body."

Lyonel shook his head and opened his mouth to speak. Robb interrupted his protests, his voice trembling, "No, he's right. You did everything you could. And no matter what you say, it made a difference. The Lannisters would have had his corpse paraded throughout the streets. You've done more good than harm."

Lyonel made no attempts to argue. "…He said he loved you, all of you. He's waiting for you in the afterlife. He also said he would never forgive you if you arrived before your times." He turned to look at Robb, "He's proud of the man you've become."

Robb couldn't help the tiny smile that formed on his face. His father wanted them to be happy, and to move on with their lives. But how could he?

"He wanted you to have this," Lyonel said as he held the hilt of Ice to Robb. "Only the head of House Stark is to wield this blade. It is yours now." Robb's hand slipped underneath Lyonel's hand, removing it before his own gripped the hilt tightly.

Lyonel said nothing more as he walked out of the tent to leave them to their mourning. As the tent flaps closed behind him, his gaze met that of Theon Greyjoy, leaning against a barrel across from Lyonel. Theon motioned to the tent behind him with his eyes. He was asking if he should enter.

Lyonel shook his head in response, and Theon nodded in gratitude before wandering off somewhere. Lyonel knew not where, and he didn't care.

He wondered though. Would anyone grieve for him if he died? Arya would surely not. She hadn't been speaking to him for the past few days, ever since Eddard died.

Would Myrcella or Tommen? Of course they would. They're his siblings.

He made sure they knew that well.

* * *

 **Flashback**

Lyonel's heart twisted at seeing his siblings like this. Myrcella had tears falling from her eyes, as did Tommen. They both sat in their respective chairs. The black tent did little to dissuade the chilly night wind from entering it. They both couldn't stop crying after finding out the truth of their birth. Myrcella looked up at him, "Is it true?"

Lyonel stared at her before nodding, his expression soft. "It is."

Myrcella sobbed, "So that's it? We're nothing more than abominations of incest?"

Lyonel shook his head, angered that even _she_ would refer to herself as such, "I do not give two shits as to what you are. I care about _who_ you are."

Myrcella and Tommen looked at him in surprise. Tommen's small and trembling voice carried a hint of hope, "R-really? You mean that?"

Lyonel nodded, his voice filled with conviction, "Of course! Do you think I would be bothering to convince you if I felt otherwise?!" They seemed unconvinced. Lyonel sighed before he leaned forward from his chair and looked at Myrcella, "Do you know… what happened the night you were born?" Myrcella shook her head as she wiped the tears of her cheeks, her eyes puffy and red. "Mother told me this, I couldn't remember everything from that night. Only few things. I was at the end of my second year of life. After mother gave birth to you, I went into the room. Her eyes were droopy from exhaustion. And you were crying your eyes out. No matter what the milkmaids or midwives did, you kept crying. I think it was the storm that scared you, I'm not sure. I asked mother to show me where you were, and a maid held you. She knelt and I saw you in her arms, crying. I held out my hand to you. Do you know what happened?"

She shook her head once more, confusion in her eyes. Lyonel smiled at the memory, "You stopped crying immediately. And then you opened your emerald eyes and looked straight into mine. You reached your hand out and grabbed my finger… and you smiled." Myrcella stared at him in slight shock. Lyonel continued, "The moment you smiled at me, was the moment I loved you."

Myrcella's surprise only grew as hope and joy started swelling in her chest.

Lyonel's eyes met Tommen's, "When you were born, there was no storm. But you kept crying nonetheless. And just like Myrcella, you stopped when I held you in my arms. Your smiles were identical. But unlike Myrcella, you actually laughed. Ever since then, I've been doing my best to hear that same laughter of joy again."

Tommen stopped crying altogether and smiled as he wiped his tears with the back of his small hand.

Lyonel sighed quietly with a smile on his face as he leaned back, "I have watched you two grow up. I raised you both since you were born. I kept you company, I helped you when you needed it, I protected you every single time you were in danger." He looked at Myrcella. "It was your smile…" His head turned to Tommen. "…And your laughter that made me love you two, not blood. If you think I'm about to abandon you or stop loving you because of something as petty as blood relation or because your parents are as vile as a human can be, then you've got another surprise coming. Nothing in this world can compare to the strength of my love for the two of you."

Myrcella and Tommen stared at him before they both got off their chairs and jumped into Lyonel's arms. Lyonel smiled and closed his eyes, content now that his siblings knew he loved them. His arms tightened around their waists gently, pulling them closer to him.

"Thank you so much, brother!" Myrcella said with joy in her voice.

* * *

 **Flashback End**

Lyonel wanted to smile, but he couldn't. The memory brought him so much joy, yet the moment he stopped reminiscing, all the bad that has happened occupied his thoughts. Arya hadn't spoken to him ever since Eddard's death. To be fair, she hadn't spoken to anyone but Jon, even then she spoke few words. She had mostly cried for her father. Lyonel had faced a ruthless serial killer of the worst kind when he was three-and-ten and emerged victorious, with the murderer brutally and easily dealt with. He had faced his mother's cold and hateful glares, his father's drunken tantrums, the dangers of court without second thoughts. He had charged The Mountain without hesitation, knowing he wasn't going to emerge unscathed, if he was to emerge at all.

Yet he did not dare to face Arya and look her in the eyes. Not after failing her like he did.

Lyonel closed his eyes and sighed, his frown returning. There was no point to thinking about it now, so he decided to march back to his tent.

He arrived inside as the tent flaps closed behind him. He immediately made his way to his bed before sitting on it. Lyonel put his head in his hands before going back to loathing himself for his failures. He sat there, cursing himself mentally for failing his two best friends and getting their father killed in the process. The thought of failing Arya was the most punishing.

But why? Why was the thought of her hating him so taxing? Why does her opinion mean so much to him?

Before Lyonel could continue his line of thought, he heard his tent flaps open. He ignored it until a small, soft voice spoke, "Lyonel?"

He slowly looked up, lifting his head from his hands, and saw her standing there. She fidgeted nervously and shyly. Her hair had been cut short, but not too much as it still reached past her shoulders. It had been cut along the journey as Lyonel's men had disguised them as a band of separate travelers, just happening to be going the same way. He stood up abruptly, startling her ever so slightly. "Arya… what are you doing here?" He cursed himself mentally. A week without trading words and the first thing he says is _'What are you doing here?'_

Arya stared at the ground, still fidgeting, before she looked up at him. Her expression sad yet shy and nervous at the same time, "I… I don't know. I just don't want to be alone. Can… can I stay here… with you?"

Lyonel stared at her in shock and surprise. How could she not hate him right now? How can she be so forgiving? Lyonel's heart felt relieved, as if a heavy burden had been lifted. He realized he was staring once Arya said, "Please?"

Lyonel shook himself out of his thoughts and once again cursed himself for making her think he did not wish for her company, "O-of course."

Arya seemed relieved as she slowly walked over to him and sat to his right on the bed. She seemed to hesitate to do something, until she decided to lean her head against his chest. As muscular as it was, it turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. She absentmindedly held her breath, waiting for Lyonel's response. She relaxed when she felt both of his large and stone-like arms wrapped themselves around her. Her body warmed up from being adjacent to his. She felt protected in his arms, and she never wanted to leave.

But good things never last. She knew it all too well.

But she was going to enjoy every second she spent with him. She closed her eyes, content in his arms.

"Why?" Arya opened her eyes looking at him, confusion on her face. "Why don't you hate me?"

Her eyes widened, "Hate you?"

"I promised you I would save your father, and I failed you. I did everything I could, and yet it wasn't enough. I got your father kil-"

Arya stopped him before he could even start as she grabbed him by the neck of his tunic. "Don't," she warned in a low and angered voice. "Don't even think about it. It wasn't your fault. Do you want to know why I don't hate you? It's because that's exactly what you did: _Everything_ you could have. You did everything in your power to try and save my father. Even if you failed… if it wasn't for you, things would have turned out much worse. Father's head would have been mounted on a pike, I wouldn't be here with my family, Syrio would be dead and the Lannisters would have had Ice. And if you dare say it was your fault I swear to the old, new and the drowned that I will break your nose and sew your mouth shut, you bloody idiot!"

Lyonel stared at her in silence. Never had a girl demolished an argument in such a way that it silenced him. She truly was something else. She continued to stare at him before slowly releasing his tunic. Lyonel swallowed, before uttering softly, "Thank you."

Arya turned shy ever so slightly as she looked at the bed instead of him, "Someone has to stop you from turning into a complete nitwit."

A quiet laugh rumbled in his chest, and Arya looked up at him with a barely contained smile. She hesitated, not knowing if Lyonel would approve, before finally deciding to lay her head on his lap, facing up, and closing her eyes.

She suddenly felt his hand in her hair. Confused, she looked at him and opened her mouth to speak, "Wha-" But stopped herself once Lyonel started gently scratching and massaging her scalp. It felt like heaven, his hand and fingers surprisingly soft. She moaned quietly at the feeling and squirmed slightly in comfort against him, moving closer and closing her eyes.

Lyonel's smile went unnoticed by her. They stayed like this, with Lyonel sitting comfortably and Arya lying on her back next to him with her head in his lap, his hand massaging her scalp. And before long, Arya fell asleep, her head falling gently to the side. Her chest rose with every soft breath she took. Lyonel knew not what possessed him when his hand seemed to move on its own up to her face. His fingers brushed her hair behind her ear, exposing the side of her face fully. He stared at her peaceful face. He couldn't stop his fingers from gently stroking her cheek.

Her fourteenth name day was soon, only one day away, in fact. His eyes wandered to her body. She was beginning to mature. Her muscles had started to develop, although they were barely noticeable. Her feminine curves were starting to become more pronounced, and her face was changing as well.

And to think her sister used to tease her for being ugly. ' _Arya Horseface_ 'Sansa called her. It was something he never quite understood. She didn't look ugly in any way to him.

In fact, to him she looked cute… Wait, why was he having these thoughts? He shook his head. He was acting odd, even to himself. It must be the stress getting to him.

He decided to dismiss the subject and to rest. He needed it. But he wasn't going to be sleeping next to Arya. He doubted she'd approve. He couldn't lean back and rest either, lest he fall on the tent and tear it down on him. But he wasn't going to wake her up. She needed rest more than he did. He sighed, gently lifting her head before moving away from under her and placing her head down gently on the bed.

His eyes lingered on her face before he stood up, stretching his arms and back, and walking out of the tent. His eyes scanned the sight before him. Some soldiers conversed, while others ran around with messages to their lords, the grass and mud fields were scattered with tents. A few passing soldiers, Ryswell men if Lyonel's knowledge of sigils were correct, hailed their prince, to which Lyonel nodded in response. _'But I am not their prince or king. Not unless they choose to make me so.'_

Something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was the cage of Jaime Lannister. Lyonel's fists clenched in anger, his soft frown turning furious. His eyes met those of the soldiers guarding the cage. Lyonel motioned to Jaime with his head, and the soldiers nodded as they opened the cage to bring him out. Lyonel marched towards them.

Jaime groaned as the two Stark men grabbed him by the arms and dragged out of the cage, his feet scraping the dirt, "What is it now?" He hid his surprise when he saw Lyonel striding towards him, smirking, "Nephew! How good to see y-"

His sentence was cut off when Lyonel's fist flew into his face. Not even the Stark soldiers' grip could stop him from flying back into the cage. His body slid across all the shit and mud as he groaned in pain while holding his nose.

Lyonel's voice growled dangerously, "You son of a whore!"

Before Jaime could look up, his nephew was already in front of him, holding him by the neck of his shirt before dragging him out of the cage. Lyonel raised his fist before bringing it down on Jaime's face with every word, "You. Selfish. Thoughtless. Fucking. BASTARD!"

Despite all of his rage, Lyonel took care not to strike with his full strength. Had he not gone easy, Jaime would have most likely been beaten into unconsciousness, if not worse.

"STOP!" Lyonel heard before a hand gripped his arm, stopping him from continuing. He snapped his head back to see Jon holding his arm, Myrcella, Tommen and Robb behind him, "He's had enough, Lyonel!"

Lyonel glared at Jon in anger, yet he wasn't the source of the rage. He turned his head towards Jaime before roughly throwing him to the ground. Jaime coughed violently, his face bloody and pained, his head aching. "Are you content?!" he asked, still looking at the ground.

Lyonel glared at him in disbelief, "Content? CONTENT?! YOU THINK THIS IS ABOUT ME!?" Lyonel raised his fist once more, and once more it was grabbed by Jon. Lyonel shook him off, "Get off!" He turned to Jaime, who looked up at him. "You should have been there for them! You should have raised them along with me! You should have protected them from Joffrey! But instead you decided to alienate them!"

Jaime's smug façade fell and his anger finally broke out, "As if I could have! Robert would have kno-"

Lyonel turned around, dumbfounded and frustrated as he grabbed his head with both of his hand while growling, "Grr, I know that!" He turned around to glare at him once more, "You should have been an uncle to them! You should have been a friend to them! You should have been SOMETHING! NOT A FUCKING STRANGER!"

Jaime barely hid his shame as he looked down. Lyonel panted, tired of yelling. Silence fell over them all. Everyone that had been spectating was wide eyed. "You know…" Lyonel started, not looking at Jaime. The Lion of Lannister looked up at his nephew. "…The title of Kingslayer never bothered me. I didn't care what you did. I would have loved you as an uncle- _We_ … would have loved you like an uncle. It _might_ have never worked out between the two of us. But Myrcella and Tommen..?" His head slowly turned to look at his uncle in disappointment, "You should have been there for them. It would have worked, you could have hated me and cursed at me every time you saw me, you could have struck me and humiliated me every single time you caught a glimpse of me and I wouldn't have minded as long as you would have been there for _them_ ," he said as he motioned towards his siblings, currently standing behind Robb.

Jaime looked over at them. He saw Tommen's look of confusion when their gazes met, and Myrcella's hint of pity.

Lyonel continued, "I cannot begin to tell you how disappointed I am in you. I had thought you better than this. But it seems I was wrong."

Lyonel turned around, tired, before making his way to his tent while staring at the ground.

"Why did you?" Jaime's voice called out, causing to Lyonel stop in his tracks. "Why did you think me better than… _this_?"

A silence reigned over them before Lyonel finally answered, "I'm not a narrow-minded fool. I don't judge without forethought." Lyonel turned around and met Jaime's confused gaze. "I knew that from the moment Eddard Stark saw you, he judged you. You never had a chance to explain yourself. There are two sides to every story. The only side people listened to was that of Eddard's. I knew from the moment my father told me what you did to be called Kingslayer, you did it for a reason."

Most of the spectators had a look of realization and curiosity on their faces. Realization that Jaime must have had a reason for killing Aerys, and curiosity as to what that reason was. Jaime had a look of surprise on his face and a hint of gratitude in his eyes that someone understood he had a reason for doing what he did.

"But do you know what? I don't care anymore. I don't care why you did it. It could have been to save all of King's Landing and I couldn't give a shit. Because those two," he said as he pointed at his siblings, "are one of the few people that matter to me. You could have murdered a million of innocents and I wouldn't have cared… as long as you were at least decent to _them_. But I truly don't even care anymore."

Lyonel stared at him. He didn't even feel hatred or anger anymore. Just disappointment. Lyonel sighed and turned around. He froze when he saw Arya right in front of the tent flaps. She saw the whole thing. Lyonel cursed himself… yet again. He must have woken her up with his shouting. He strode up to her before stopping in front of her. He stared into her grey, misty eyes. His eyes lingering on hers a fraction of a second too long before walking past her to the inside of his tent.

Jon sighed before lifting the Kingslayer up by the arms. Jaime recognized him, yet said nothing, _'Stark's bastard.'_

Inside of the tent, Lyonel sat on the single chair in his tent and rested his arms on the table. His fingers moved to rub his eyes.

" _You are a failure… an abomination. You deserve nothing but misery. You are no better than your uncle._ " Lyonel sighed silently in frustration. Ever since the death of Eddard, he had gone mad. He'd hear voices whispering to him, insulting him, calling him a failure. But he couldn't blame them. That's what he was. The voices were nothing like that of the Old Gods. He could tell. These voiced dripped with hatred and loathing. But he told no one of them. They usually disappeared after a minute.

What Lyonel didn't understand was, why did they return? Lyonel knew now that Arya didn't hate him, that she didn't blame him. Yet the voices kept returning. Why? It was simply irrational. Were they the manifestation of his self-loathing? But he had lost all self-loathing after Arya had reassured him.

He sighed, _'Simply irrational.'_

Lyonel stood up from his chair and gazed at the reflection in his water bowl. He blinked once, and saw something that shocked him, before immediately blinking again. It disappeared, only lasting for a fraction of a second, but he remembered every detail. He saw himself. But his face was covered in blood, his eyes were gleaming with madness and his grin was blood thirsty. The background showed a blackened sky, a storm raging as the rain fell on his face, yet did nothing to wash away the blood.

Lyonel shook his head. He must have been imagining things.

He truly was starting to go mad.

* * *

Lyonel stood, leaning against the stone wall behind him with his arms crossed as he watched the northern lords debate on their next course of action. A course of action that would forever change their future.

"We cannot bow down to an abomination of incest! Not after what he did to Lord Stark, and Vayon Poole!" A lord yelled out. Lyonel wanted to point out how obvious it was, but refrained from commenting on the lord's idiocy.

"Of course we cannot! But should we truly be following another Baratheon?! How will we know Renly will respect our northern traditions? How will he be any different than Robert?!" Another lord said. "Let's not speak with false tongues. The only reason we accepted Roberts dismissive behavior to our traditions was the friendship he had with Lord Stark! There is only one we can follow, and that is his only trueborn!"

Their arguments were interrupted by Lord Bolton. The man's eerie calmness would have disturbed most men. But Lyonel was not most men. He could tell what kind of man Roose was. But he could not for the life of him figure out his motives. Power for his own house seemed too… simple for someone such as Roose. "But should we follow the man's son?"

All eyes wandered to Lyonel. The night and the shadows hid most of his body. He slowly stood straight and stepped out of the shadows. His own calm face matched that of Bolton.

Roose continued, "How do we know if he is not worse than his father? He has murdered lords at his whims. How will we know if we are safe from his temper if we choose to make him our ruler? In fact, are we even allowed to voice our true opinions in front of _his grace_?"

The last words had the tiniest hint of mockery. Arya sat next to her mother, and glared at how Roose dared to speak to Lyonel.

Lyonel's gentle frown returned to his face as all of the northerners stared at him. He finally stepped slowly into the middle and faced the lords who waited for him to speak.

His voice was robust and authoritative, "I do not know much about your northern culture. I do not know of your traditions. I do not know how you honor your dead, how you pay your respects to your lieges, what stories your mothers usually used to tell you when they tucked you into bed. I will not pretend as if I have anything in common with you, other than your gods. I do not follow the Old Ways, and I will not pretend to know anything of it. Right now, I am nothing more than a prince without a kingdom. I have no men that follow me. Even if I had wished it, I would be powerless to take away your freedom of speech. Speak your mind! Tell me if you would have me as your king! Or as nothing! For that is what a ruler is without followers! Nothing! Without you, I am but one man! I stand alone! The future of the Seven Kingdoms lies in your hands!"

Lyonel paused, allowing the meaning of his words to sink in. "Think on it hard! Speak your mind, and speak it truly! My fate now lies with you."

He stood still, waiting patiently for them to speak. Roose continued, "How will we know you will not murder whoever speaks their minds against you once we name you our king?"

Lyonel's calm frown faced the Leech Lord, "You don't."

"Then how can we speak our minds, _your grace_? How will we know if we are safe-"

A lord finally stepped forward. A giant longsword adorned his back, just as his beard adorned his chin and cheeks. The prince recognized him as Lord Gregor Forrester. His voice called out in protest, "No!"

All eyes landed on the renowned lord in surprise. "These accusations are born from nothing but paranoia!" He pointed towards Lyonel, "This boy- No, this _man_! Saved the daughter of Lord Stark! He brought back their famed blade and Lord Stark's body, preventing the Lannisters from dishonoring us and our fallen, so that Lord Stark may be buried with his family in the crypts! He fought, and bled and shed the blood of his own men to save Lord Stark. He did not murder, he _killed_ knights who should never have been allowed to live after their crimes! Men who raided, raped and pillaged lands belonging to the Tully's! He corrected his father's mistake, he honored and respected our religion and culture, he honored House Stark and above all… He did so without thought for his own being! He risked his life time and time again without second thoughts!"

Many of the lords shouted out their agreement and cheered. Lord Forrester's own son walked from the crowd and stood beside his own father. Lord Forrester unsheathed the blade on his back before pointing it at Lyonel, "There stands a man I would gladly follow into battle and die for! House Forrester will gladly swear fealty to you, LYONEL BARATHEON!" Lord Forrester placed the tip of his blade against the ground and kneeled with his head bowed down as the crowd cheered louder. Soon, his son drew his blade before kneeling as he too shouted, "LYONEL BARATHEON!"

Soon, many more lords stepped forward, drawing their blades and kneeling as each of them repeated, "LYONEL BARATHEON!"

Lyonel stared at them, hiding his surprise at their seemingly immediate devotion to him. Lyonel slowly turned his head to see that Robb, Jon and Theon Greyjoy had already kneeled with their blades drawn. The chants filled the air as the northerners hailed their new leader, "LYONEL! LYONEL! LYONEL!"

Lyonel's soft frown had disappeared. His expression had now turned serious as his eyes wandered from lord to lord, as they all chanted his name. His gaze finally met that of Arya's. Her eyes were wide in surprise; the smile on her face was unmistakably joyful, as if she had newfound hope. She nodded at him, the smile still on her face. Lyonel returned the courtesy, his own small smile decorating his mouth.

His ears caught the sound of Ghost's howl, and the familiar howls that responded to the albino direwolf.

Nymeria was back.

And the time for vengeance and reclamation had begun.

* * *

 **Next Day**

Arya ran to the crowd of men that had formed a ring around the practice yard. She stood next to Robb who conversed with Theon while watching the fight in front of him. Her eyes were slightly tired as she had just woken up. He noticed her and greeted her, and Nymeria who stood proudly at her other side, "What are you doing here, Arya."

"I'm watching the men fight!"

Robb opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself, knowing the futility of arguing with her.

She spotted Lyonel trading blows with Jon as the sound of their wooden swords smacking against each other was drowned out by the yelling of the crowd. Jon dodged a diagonal strike from Lyonel as he leaned his torso to the side, the sword mere inches from his face. He tried to counter it with a strike of his own, but the sword was ducked under as Lyonel span around to hit Jon on the shoulder. Instead, their swords clashed. Lyonel purposefully let Jon push his blade to the side, spinning around gracefully to strike him, just as Syrio had taught him. Give them a taste of their own medicine.

What Lyonel did not take into account was Jon's realization that he shouldn't have been able to overpower Lyonel in a blade lock, hinting that the prince was attempting something. This led to Jon barely dodging the strike before he struck Lyonel on the face, taking advantage of the opportunity by proceeding to grab his sword's blade and placing the hilt behind Lyonel's calf before pulling the hilt towards himself, sweeping Lyonel off his feet.

The crowd cheered as his back hit the ground. Jon pointed the tip of his sword at Lyonel's face. "I yield," he said. Jon pulled the blade away before holding his hand out to Lyonel. The prince accepted the hand before lifting himself up, "You fight well. I was right to name you my sworn shield."

Jon nodded in gratitude, a proud smile on his face, "You're not too bad yourself. Yet you're not much better than Robb."

Arya giggled and looked at Robb, whose fingers rubbed his bearded chin in thoughtfulness, "I can't tell if that was a compliment or an insult." Arya repressed the urge to giggle once more. Theon laughed quietly to himself.

"Then what could've been better?" Lyonel asked, wanting to learn.

"You lower your guard for half a second before trying to lunge strike, giving away your next move. Also, had you been facing a skilled opponent with faster strikes, they would have been able to slip their blade through your lowered defenses, killing you before you even had a chance to finish your lunge. The fact that I was able to beat your strength in a blade lock was not possible, also giving away your intent to trick me. And last, your attempt to blend the art of Westerosi swordsmanship and Braavosi water dance together is not as effective as you may think as you attempt to chain the different moves together but end up interrupting your momentum and flow of movement. But this is mostly because you aren't used to using both of them together. All you need to do is practice on chaining those moves together, and you'll be a formidable opponent. Once you're skilled enough, you may even be able to create entirely new moves and maneuvers."

Lyonel nodded in understanding, noting his mistakes and to train on countering them. But the idea of him creating entirely new moves caught his interest as he crossed his arms and walked beside Jon to the crowd, "An ambitious thought."

Jon nodded in agreement, "Ambitious, yes. But not impossible."

"True."

The crowd parted to let the two walk outside of the ring. Lyonel placed the wooden sword on top of a barrel as the weapon rack was absent.

A booming voice was heard shouting out, "It seems the rumors of your strength is nothing but nonsense!" Lyonel didn't need to turn around to realize that the voice belonged to the one and only Greatjon Umber. "Is this the _boy_ I swore fealty to!? A stag without antlers!?"

Lyonel stayed silent, unsurprisingly, but turned around to face the proud lord. Most of the crowd had gone silent, waiting for Lyonel's reaction, yet their patience was met with nothing but silence from the prince.

Instead, Jon spoke for him, "There is more to sword fighting than strength, my lord."

The Greatjon nodded slowly, "Aye, but strength is the mark of a true man! Tell me, _your grace_ , are you a man or a boy?" 'Your grace' was stated mockingly. Lyonel knew he pointed out that he was not yet king. But he didn't care.

Arya's anger rose within her as she prepared to defend him.

Lyonel stared at the lord in silence before his hand went up to the straps of his leather tunic and undid them, "We shall see, shall we not?"

The grin on Greatjon was almost from ear to ear, "A stag without antlers, but not without courage." He turned to wave towards two soldiers, motioning them to the middle of the ring.

Arya watched as Lyonel took off his leather tunic. Her heart raced as blood rushed through her neck and to her cheeks. Her breath silently hitched in her throat as she saw his naked torso. The muscles on him were abundant, and looked as if they were carved and chiseled by the finest stone masons. She couldn't take her eyes off him. He had the body of a god…

Wait, why was she having these thoughts? What was happening to her? Her body began to heat up. What was she feeling?

"See something you like?" Theon teased with a mischievous smirk. Robb looked at Arya in surprise and confusion before he looked at where she was staring. He smirked as she shook herself out of her staring and blushed furiously at being caught almost drooling over the sight of Lyonel's torso. This never happened before. She had seen the muscles on his arms and seen his strength in action. Yet she thought of them nothing more than an advantage when fighting.

But now? Now she was feeling something else. She saw them as more than an advantage on the battlefield. She felt… attracted to them.

She could barely look into Robb's eyes as she asked, "Robb… what am I feeling?"

Robb repressed the laughter threatening to burst out of his lungs, "Nothing out of the ordinary, little sister. Talk to mother about it later, she'll explain everything." Arya did nothing but stare at Lyonel, the furious blush still on her face.

Robb felt Theon poking at him with his elbow. He looked over at his friend. Theon had a devious smile on his face, "Perhaps our dear prince could give her a demonstration instead."

Theon chuckled at his own joke, before Robb suddenly unsheathed Ice. Theon jumped back in surprise.

Robb's glare tried to burn a hole in his friend's head, "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

Theon began pleading while walking backwards, "Hey, come now Robb, it was a simple joke!"

"Oh, I'll show you a joke!" Robb said before raising the valyrian blade and charging Theon, who turned around and ran. They ran past the Lord Umber, Lyonel and Jon.

As they ran off, one could hear Robb shouting, "Talk about my sister that way again, will you!?" Several soldiers off in the distance turned around and looked at them in confusion as the two ran past them.

Umber stared at them with an odd expression, while Lyonel and Jon turned to look at each other. "What was that about?"

Jon shrugged, "Must have said something perverted about Sansa or Arya."

Lyonel's eyebrows furrowed in confusion before looking at Arya, whose cheeks looked red, like tomatoes. She was blushing, he realized. A lot. She seemed to blush even more when their eyes met. Why was she doing that? He shrugged it off, assuming it to be something Theon said.

Arya watched as her betrothed walked into the middle of the ring to fight two northern soldiers. One of them was a Bolton while the other had the sigil of the roaring giant with the shattered wrist chains. An Umber soldier, she realized.

The two soldiers looked confused as they stood next to each other, empty handed. The Umber soldier looked at his liege lord, "Where are our blades?"

Greatjon's voice was mocking, "Haven't you been listening? We're not here to test his skill with a sword; we're here to test his strength! You're not frightened, are you?"

The Umber shook his head before turning to look at the prince. Lyonel looked at the both of them, "Don't hold back. I know I won't."

They nodded in agreement before raising their fists. Lyonel slowly brought both of his palms against each other and to the side of his chest before proceeding with an arc motion, finishing by bringing his hands in front of him. His right arm was placed at his waist, his hands curled into fists. His left arm was held in a precise and straight line, except his elbow was slightly curved.

The spectators found themselves confused at the stance.

Unknown to them, Lyonel had been training in a new hand-to-hand style. The former Yi Ti slave had taught him in return for Lyonel recruiting him. Had Lyonel not, the former slave would have most likely starved. Of course, Lyonel was no master or exceptional in any way in the foreign art. But he could hold his own in a fight using it.

The two soldiers suddenly charged forward. The prince did the same before jumping up in the air and planting his right foot on the Umber's chest, kicking him to the side, before swiftly kicking the Bolton on the side of his face using the same foot.

The crowd stared in shock and awe of the impressive move. Even Arya shook herself out of her inappropriate staring to look on in awe.

The two soldiers held their damaged areas in pain, yet stood on their feet. The Bolton charged Lyonel again, this time attempting to punch him on the chest, to which Lyonel dodged by leaning his chest to the side. The soldier tried to follow up with a hook to the face, which Lyonel blocked by raising his arm to the side of his head. Before the soldier had time to pull his hand away for another strike, Lyonel's right arm thrust forward from his waist, but gentler as to not cause permanent harm. He wouldn't want to have injured soldier fighting. His fist planted itself right on the middle of the Bolton's chest. It was a good thing the man wasn't wearing armor.

The Bolton groaned and coughed as he held his chest in pain, staggering away. Lyonel swiftly turned around to see the Umber attempting to jab him in the face. Lyonel raised his left leg, thankful he was wearing loose trousers, and brought his leg down on the fist, knocking it down. He followed up by slamming his legs in the man's sides three times in a swift and consecutive order, debilitating him severely. Lyonel immediately proceeded by bringing his foot up to kick the man in the chin. Lyonel could feel his jaw dislocating against his heel. The Umber fell backwards and on the ground, not waking up anytime soon.

Lyonel turned to see the Bolton nervously shaking slightly. Lyonel blocked another hook to his head. The soldier followed up with immediately bringing his other fist to hook the exposed side of the prince's face. He hit hard enough to make Lyonel bleed ever so slightly from his mouth. The Bolton continued to kick him back. Lyonel braced his abdomen by tensing up the muscles. He rolled backwards from the kick before standing up.

The soldier was visibly more encouraged now that he managed to hit Lyonel a few times. They both circled each other slowly. Lyonel spat out blood on the ground.

Arya was interrupted when Robb and Theon walked up to their previous spots in the crowd. She turned her head to look at them, the blush still on her cheeks but not as visible. She noticed that they were both out of breath and that Theon had a cut lip and bruised cheek.

"Who's winning," Robb asked breathily . Arya muttered something. He couldn't hear what it was, "What?"

"I said 'Lyonel'."

Theon chuckled, "Oh, I'd gamble you couldn't take your eyes off him."

Arya glared at him, "Shut up!"

Robb repressed a chuckle, "Arya, it's perfectly normal."

She stared at him before asking in a quiet voice, "Really..?"

He nodded in response, his chest still heaving as he tried to regain his breath, "Of course. After you're done here, go talk to mother. She'll explain your feelings."

Arya's eyes returned to her betrothed fast enough to see him holding the Bolton by the neck and slamming his forehead against him, knocking him to the ground. The crowd cheered for their victor.

Greatjon Umber's booming laughter drowned out them all as he walked over to his prince, "Perhaps I was mistaken!"

Lyonel turned to look at him, "You were, just not in the way you think. You were mistaken when you called me a stag."

Umber's amused smile was almost contagious, "I didn't take you for a Lannister!"

Lyonel smirked, "I'm not. I am a lion of Baratheon."

The Greatjon laughed even louder. "Again?!" he offered.

Lyonel looked at the cheering crowd behind him before looking back at the lumbering ox of a man, "Why not?"

Greatjon laughed once again as he patted Lyonel on the shoulder roughly. To his credit, Lyonel was unfazed. He turned around and saw Arya again. Arya's heartbeat raced as she saw him making his way to her. Behind him, the Greatjon motioned for two more soldiers once the previous two had been woken up and taken to the nurses.

He finally arrived in front of her. Someone random from the crowd handed him a piece of cloth. He nodded his thanks and accepted it before cleaning the blood off his face and hands. He looked at her, "Good morning."

"Good morning," Arya said a bit too quickly. She mentally cursed herself.

He looked at her oddly, "…Are you alright?"

Arya calmed her breathing before answering, "Yes." She paused, hesitating to ask before finally doing it. "Do… do you want to train with me and Syrio?"

Robb and Theon watched on in amusement. Arya had a crush on Lyonel. And she was showing it as clear as daylight. Lyonel would have to be an incompetent fool not to notice.

Lyonel opened his mouth to answer, but instead a voice was heard from behind him. A soldier spoke in his stead, "The prince doesn't have time to play around with little girls."

Robb frowned and was about to berate the soldier, but to his surprise, Lyonel spoke as he put the piece of cloth in the waist of his trousers, "He's right. I don't have time to play with little girls."

Robb's frown deepened as soon as his shock dissipated. Arya's expression displayed hurt and disappointment. Arya had her feelings wounded before when she was constantly mocked and bullied by her sister. But not even everything she said put together would wound her as much as Lyonel's words did. But before Robb could tear him a new one, Lyonel suddenly span around, slamming his fist into the soldier's face and proceeding to kick him in the back of the leg. The man fell on his knee before Lyonel's collided with his chin, knocking him out.

Everyone stared on in silenced shock. Lyonel turned to look back at Arya as he pulled out the piece of cloth and cleaned his hands once again, "There, I made time."

Arya stared at him in surprise and awe. Silence reigned for a while until The Greatjon's booming laughter was heard once more. Even Lyonel couldn't stop the toothy smile that crept up on his face slowly. It didn't take long before Lyonel laughed and cupped her cheek. He stared into her eyes, the smile still on his face, before motioning his head to the side, "Come on. Let's find Syrio."

Arya felt her own smile creep up as she nodded in excitement. They ignored the stares they received from the crowd as they walked off.

All the soldiers and lords hailed Lyonel as he walked past them. It didn't take long before Arya started talking, "Why did you do that?"

He looked down at her, "What?"

"Why did you choose to train with a little girl rather than soldiers?"

Arya found herself beguiled by his handsome smile, "I would much rather spend time with you than soldiers. You mean far more to me than those men ever will. Which is saying much."

Arya smiled at him and thanked him for his kind words. Yet she couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed at hearing she was only a close friend. It meant a lot to her, yet she wished she was more than a friend.

Arya suddenly realized what he said, "Wait, why is it saying much?"

Lyonel motioned around them, "These people have chosen me as their leader. The soldiers are willing to sacrifice themselves and fight for _me_. I don't take such things for granted."

Arya stared at him. And she thought her respect for him couldn't grow any more abundant. She slowly realized the true meaning of his words, "And yet you still value me more than them?"

He looked into her eyes and smiled once more, "Of course I do."

Arya felt her entire being warm at his words. She meant more to him than thousands of loyal men did. They finally stopped in front of a tent. "What are we doing here? I thought we were meant to find Syrio."

Lyonel looked around, "Waiting for Samwell."

"Why are we waiting for him?"

He stopped looking around, his eyes stopping at her, "He's bringing us your name-day gift that I made."

Arya's eyes widened in surprise, "You made me a gift?" Lyonel nodded. "Wait… you _made_ me a gift?"

Another nod, "I didn't have anything else to work on in the forge, so I figured I may as well make you something I suspect you'd like. This is what I went back for when we evacuated King's Landing."

Arya couldn't help the childlike excitement and giddiness at hearing she was getting a present from The Silent Storm's very own personal forge. She was also touched at how her present was reason enough for him to risk his life. Lyonel's laughter was muffled as he closed his mouth when he saw her reaction. Lyonel looked at her in amusement as she fidgeted excitingly while they waited for minutes.

Lyonel finally heard a voice calling out behind him, "My prince!" He turned to see Samwell with an excited and fascinated smile. Arya couldn't see what it was, but Samwell handed something to the prince. "I inspected the parts and the functions of it from the plans you gave me! It's a genius design, my prince!"

Lyonel nodded in gratitude, "I appreciate your words, Samwell. You may leave." Lyonel turned to look at Arya, who seemed to get more excited by the second. "Ready?" An enthusiastic nod from Arya, and Lyonel finally revealed the object in his hand. Arya's eyes lingered on the handle-looking object he was holding. The wood had extremely detailed and beautiful carvings depicting wolves running through a forest. Lyonel turned it around, allowing her to inspect the entire artwork. The meticulous carvings captured her eyes and simply wouldn't let go. She realized the wolves were carved to look like Nymeria and her siblings.

Arya finally shook herself out of her staring and met Lyonel's gaze, "It's… It's beautiful but… What is it?"

Lyonel's smile widened as he gripped the object tightly, "Stand back, please." Arya complied and took a few steps back, almost walking into the tent. Lyonel suddenly span the object in the palm of his hand before gripping it tightly. Arya was shocked, excited and even more awed when a blade suddenly extracted from what she now knew was a hilt. The blade was black and shiny, on the side of it was a text in an unknown language. The text was colored a faint emerald green, giving the illusion that it was shining. The text covered the entire right side of the blade.

 **(A/N: Corvo Attano's foldable sword from Dishonored. But with text on the side of the blade.)**

Arya had the typical goldfish expression as her mouth opened and closed while her eyes were wide open. She looked up at Lyonel, "How did you do that!?"

Lyonel was clearly amused by her reaction and excitement, "I'll explain soon, first you have to tell me. Do you like it?"

He handed the sword to her. And she tested its weight. It was perfectly balanced, and the blade was almost as sharp as Ice. She looked at him once again, "Lyonel… I don't even know what to say. I… I absolutely love it!"

Lyonel's smile never left his face, "I'm glad you like it." Arya almost jumped into his arms to hug him. Lyonel put his arms in front of him to stop her.

Arya realized she made the same mistake with Jon before she put the blade in her belt next to Needle. As soon as she did, she jumped Lyonel. Her arms wrapped themselves around his neck tightly. Arya blushed lightly as she suddenly realized her body was pressed tightly against his bare torso. She could feel the stone like muscles pressing against her.

They finally let go of each other after a few seconds. Lyonel put his hand out, "Give it to me. I'll show you how to sheath the blade."

Arya reached her hand down to the hilt of the sword before pulling it out, taking care not to accidently cut the belt around her waist. She handed the sword to him. Lyonel once again span it around in the palm of his hand as the blade retracted into the hilt. Arya's childlike excitement and glee returned. Lyonel once again extracted the blade to explain its function, his finger pointed at three lines marking different areas of the blade, "See these? These are three separate blade parts that I made. Because they are separated, they can now be folded into each other."

Arya watched in curious fascination. Lyonel retracted the blade dexterously before gripping two different sides of the hilt and opening the hilt, revealing it to be two parts of one hilt connected at the cross guard. Inside of the hilt was the blade, but one could only see the bottom part as the rest of the blade had been folded inside it. "There is a part in the hilt that stops the blade from either retracting or extracting, depending on its current state, while the hilt is closed. So the moment you close it, it can't unfold or fold unless you open the hilt. Additionally, the hilt is made from ironwood."

Lyonel's finger went to the cross guard. She noticed that there was no actual cross guard, only a few metal parts. "The cross guard is a bit more confusing to look at, but actually very simple. Once you unfold the blade, these small metal claws will also unfold and act as cross guards. They may seem small and easy to cut off, but I assure you that only a valyrian steel blade will be able to do such a thing. The metal is made from Yi Ti steel. And if you look closely, you can see that I have modeled these metal parts after-"

"Wolf claws!" Arya exclaimed, the fascination evident on her face. Lyonel smiled and nodded, impressed, "Indeed. You have a good eye."

Arya stared at him, admiration and gratitude clearly written all over her face and eyes, "Lyonel… I don't know how to thank you enough."

He smiled, warmed by her words, "It is not necessary. I enjoyed making it, and I enjoy watching you love it even more."

Arya grinned before looking at the now folded blade. "How did you come up with such a genius idea?"

He shrugged slightly, "I didn't make it alone. I may be very smart, but being smart does not make you omniscient. It does not make you a master engineer and inventor. I came up with the idea of making a foldable and easily hidden sword and I forged the parts. But the actual design and which parts were required did not come from my own mind. It came from… a friend of mine. And trust me, if my friend wasn't there to guide me in putting these parts together, it would have surely taken me months. Many, many months."

Arya nodded in understanding, "I see. But how did you have time to make this?"

"I already came up with the idea months before Jon Arryn died and my father decided we should go north. I had already created most of the parts by then. I completed the rest within two days. The rest I spent practicing my carving before I was confident enough to carve the hilt of the blade."

Arya scoffed in disbelief, "You've invented something so amazing at such a young age… Do you realize what you've done?"

Lyonel chuckled, "Wouldn't want to give me too much admiration would you? I may turn arrogant if you're not careful. But in all honesty, you give me too much credit, and I'm not being modest when I say so."

"What do you mean?"

Lyonel shrugged, "Well, anyone could come up with an idea. Let me demonstrate. Think of an invention now."

Arya was slightly confused before she started thinking. Her eyes landed on the hilt in her hands. Her wide eyes met his, "A foldable bow!"

He smiled, "See? Granted, I did come up with how the sword was meant to fold, but in the end everyone can come up with something. As long as you're creative enough, but also realistic, you can create anything. Well, that and you also have a genius engineer and inventor as a friend."

Arya giggled slightly at the last part. Her eyes suddenly widened at an idea, "If you show everyone your idea, you will be making history with this!"

Lyonel chuckled at her enthusiasm, but shook his head, "I'd rather not be responsible for more deaths than I need to. I would sooner be forgotten by history than to be the inventor of a weapon that could kill millions."

Arya's mouth curved into a smile, "I didn't know you were so noble and selfless."

"I'm not. Because if I showed this invention to others, then later in the future, when people will look at the invention I made and think me a mastermind, there will be a few exceptionally rare intelligent people that will see me for what I am. A murderer that has caused the deaths of so many."

Arya stared at him before nodding slowly in understanding. She opened her hand to inspect the hilt. This was truly the best gift anyone could have gotten her. Her head looked up to see Lyonel looking forward with a blank look. He blinked before talking, "I realized something."

"What?"

His dark blue eyes met hers, "I have been half naked this entire time."

Arya both giggled and blushed at the same time, "And you noticed this now? Isn't it cold for you?"

He shook his head, "Not really." He sighed at his own idiocy before looking towards the direction of the training yard, "I should probably get my tunic. I am to have a meeting with Robb and the rest of the lords to discuss our next course of action. Uncle Stannis has declared for me, but Renly has yet to say a word. I suspect he is plotting something with the Tyrells."

Arya's eyes widened, "The Tyrells?" He nodded firmly. Confusion suddenly appeared on her face, "Wait, why are you telling me this?"

"I tell you this because I wish you to be careful. Trust no one but your family and closest friends. I also tell you this because I trust you. And I value your opinion. I would hear your suggestions on certain matters."

Arya, once again, felt her body warm at his words. She felt joy at how much trust he put in her. She grinned at him happily, "Thank you."

Lyonel nodded before motioning to the training yard, "I should go now. I will speak to you later."

She nodded before Lyonel walked past her. She stared after him. Her eyes wandered to his body once again. She cursed herself for acting so odd, she would have to visit her mother for some explanation. She was unable to tear her eyes off the muscles his back.

That was until she saw the long, but thin scars adorning it.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you liked this chapter. Also, what do you guys think the scars are all about? Is it something important, or just a one-liner ending to a chapter that I came up with on the fly. And i also want to hear your guys' opinion on the voices in Lyonel's head. Is it something big, or small? (I guess now that I mentioned it, it's pretty obvious it's gonna be something big. So it's kind of a stupid question.)**

 **Oh yeah: Next chapter is when I'm gonna write about Garrett. Since I want Garrett's mental recap of what has happened to happen during the desert.**

 **And you guys have no idea how hard it was to not write in a sexual innuendo. Let me explain:**

 **"She felt joy at how much trust he put in her".**

 **Now what I had to resist adding was:**

 **"She felt joy at how much trust he put in her. Little did she know, that wasn't the only thing he was about to put in her."**

 **Yes, I know, I can't fucking help it. It's become a reflex to make an innuendo.**

 **Anyways, onto the reviews.**

 **372259: C'mon, you didn't think I was gonna have Arya irrationally hate Lyonel just for some unnecessary drama, did you? Also thanks for your support of the story. And I think the problem happened because I replaced the Author's Note with the real chapter 8.**

 **Ninazu: I want to really respond to your review, but I'm afraid to spoil it. Well, that and I've also not decided what to do. But anyways, what i am going to say is that I appreciate your support. I really do, you've been with me from the very start, ever since my very first story: House of Fury. And you've followed some of my other stories and supported me there equally. I want you to know that your constant support is not going unnoticed.**

 **Guest: Green tea? I'm sorry but i have no idea what you mean. Must have been a typo.**

 **the metaphysical god of heroes: Don't understand what you mean by using "Harass" as a word to describe Lyonel. But anyways, I appreciate your support. And I'm glad you don't think Lyonel's a bitch.**

 **Rest of the reviewers: I also want to thank you all for your support. (Fuck me, I feel like a celebrity that's won an Oscar and is thanking God, Jesus, his family, his friends, his dog, his landlord, the fly he swatted a few seconds ago, his coffeemaker and pretty much anyone he's caught a glimpse of.)**

 **I really enjoy writing this story, but your continued support makes me even happier.**

 **Be sure to leave a review. I'd love some advice on how to improve my writing.**


	10. Enigma

**Fucking finally this slow prick updates the story!**

 **...**

 **That's probably what you guys were thinking once you saw this update. Not that I can blame you. Imagine my shock once I checked how long ago I updated this story.**

 **So, long story short: High School was a complete cunt and gave me a marathon of tests, leaving me with jackshit for time to write. And this marathon lasted months. I truly wish this was an excuse and not a justification, because a justification means that it truly happened and I did in fact get completely bum-raped by high school (A bunch of cruel pillocks) during the last few months. Oh, and I also was rewriting one of my other stories, and I'm still not finished. But that doesn't mean I'll neglect this story, oh no.**

 **In fact, I hope to make this story a long adventure. (more details at the end.)**

 **This chapter is a bit uneventful not too much happens, but I think you'll enjoy it... atleast I hope so. This is also my longest chapter by over 11 000 words excluding the author's note.**

 **And to make it up to you guys, I'm going to write another chapter for this story right after this one instead of my usual schedule where I write one chapter for every story, only exceptions being rewrites.**

 **Oh, and another thing. Garrett's looks and voice is based off of Gideon Emery.**

 **Anyways, let's get to it.**

* * *

If only you could drink sand.

Oh, Garrett would be in heaven if that was true. But it wasn't. And instead, Garrett was in hell. His legs could barely support the rest of his body. The rest of the small remnants of the former khalasar didn't seem much better off.

He glanced around him. Men and women looked as if they were made from sand. Their skin and lips dry as the barren desert they walked, their throats parched. An unlucky few had gotten sunburns. Garrett himself had thankfully only gotten a slight tan to his skin. His eyes wandered to the front of their little convoy. His eyes found the back of Ser Jorah Mormont.

As if the native of Bear Island could feel the glare burrowing into the back of his head, he slowly turned to face Garrett. Their gazes locked, Garrett's eyes illustrated the dislike he felt for the so-called _knight_. Jorah found himself in an awkward staring contest before finally looked forward again, breaking eye contact, and kept carrying on his conversation with Dany.

Looking back at the ground, Garrett cursed his luck for bringing him here. ' _How did it come to this?_ ' was the question repeating itself in his mind.

 **Flashback**

Garrett's fury boiled as his gaze observed the scene before him. Dothraki were slaughtering lambmen as if they were animals, their women being herded for imminent rape. And worst of all, children being executed while a lucky, or unlucky depending on your view, were prepared for a life of slavery. Shrines and statues of their gods were being pulled down by dothrakis with rope. As if it wasn't bad enough that they were pillaging, they had to spit on everything the lambmen's culture stood for. Such unnecessary acts of sacrilege… they truly were savages.

The roof of huts burned, the branches charred black. Children tied to posts by their wrists glared, while most looked at him in fear. By the gods out of all the things happening. Children's eyes watching him as if he were a monster was the worst.

' _ **He**_ _would never have allowed this to happen. Is this what I should be looking forward to when Daenerys Targaryen is at the head of a kingdom?_ ' Garrett knew now with whom his true loyalty belonged. He knew with all certainty.

Daenerys spoke, but Garrett did not listen. His ears heard nothing but the raging sound of fire burning down homes, screams of innocent people, cries of agony, clamoring for salvation from their suffering.

They finally stopped in front of the sight of women being beaten and abused. They were being held in a cattle pen like animals! They were struggling to escape, yet were beaten by men with clubs. A dothraki pulled one of the younger and more beautiful ones by her hair and dragged her, his vile intentions obvious as his hand began to rip off her clothes.

Garrett finally heard Dany's words, "Jorah, make them stop!"

Jorah glanced at her, "Khaleesi-"

"You heard me!"

"These men shed blood for their khal, now they claim their reward."

Garrett froze in silent shock at his words. He spoke as if that fact meant this was acceptable. As if this excused the atrocities committed. His expression was one of pure hatred and disgust as he turned to look at Jorah.

' _Another so called knight using excuses because he doesn't want to anger someone more powerful than him. And I thought he was different. Yet he would watch innocent people murdered and raped if that's what it took for his own safety. Fucking coward. Perhaps his secret love for Dany isn't so safe with me after all._ '

He spat at Jorah's feet, shocking everyone present. Even Rakharo looked surprised. "You fucking cunt!" he said as he began walking backwards slowly. "You unbelievable craven CUNT!" he roared before turning around and charging the dothraki. The man threw the poor woman against the fence as she yelped and groaned from the impact, keeling over the fence. Preparing to take her from behind, the man grinned as he marched to her. He suddenly felt all air leave his lungs as the westerosi knight charged him, ramming his steel-plated shoulder into the savage's side. He could not even groan in pain as his back hit the ground. Garrett gave him no mercy as he immediately grabbed the man's head and pulled him up from the ground.

The dothraki was dragged over to a burning and broken wooden log from a now-destroyed hut before Garrett span him around and threw him against it. Everyone present were shocked to silence as they watched the dothraki scream out in horrific pain as his entrails decorated the now bloodied and charred log.

Garrett span around, unsheathing his sword and swinging it while crouching under an arakh from the dothraki's friend in one smooth motion. The right half of his abdomen was sliced wide-open as blood sprayed, marking Garrett's face. The pain and shock proved too much for the man to scream as he fell to the ground. Before the third one could finish his charge and bring down his arakh on Garrett's shoulder, the knight dashed forward, still crouched, and impaled his foe while holding the man's sword arm, sullying his blade with unworthy human being's blood.

He coughed up blood once, his eyes wide. His shocked gaze stared into Garrett's glaring one before they rolled to the back of his head and his body went limp. The Knight of Penrose unsheathed his sword from the horseman's body before releasing his arm and pushing the corpse to the side. He wiped the blade on his own arm, careful not to cut himself.

The woman whose fate seemed grim now seemed brighter. Yet she did not realize it as she stared at Garrett in fear, her hands holding up her ripped clothes to cover herself. Her fearful eyes regarded him. Did he kill his own kin just to take her himself? He didn't look like any of the dothraki.

As she sat with her back against the fence she had been pushed up against, Garrett could see her features clearly. Her fearful eyes were colored violet, a small nose and full lips adorned her diamond shaped visage. Her smooth black hair was now disheveled owing to the dothraki that pulled her hair. She looked no younger than Garrett himself. And he was at the age of six-and-ten, now almost seven-and-ten.

 _'Violet ey_ es _… Curious. She is of valyrian descent._ ' She was no Targaryen, that much was obvious. She couldn't be. Perhaps she was a bastard of a Velaryon, or even Dayne. Maybe a valyrian had settled down here after The Doom of Valyria instead of wandering west along with their kin.

He almost chuckled. A humble Valyrian. If the tales of the Targaryen hubris were true, that would be about as likely as Garrett growing a second head on his shoulder.

He shook the thought out of his head. It wouldn't matter to him if she was of royal blood or not, because right now, she needed his help.

She kept her legs closed tightly against each other and pulled them up to her chest. She became much more fearful once he made his way to her. She closed her eyes in fearful dread and anticipation once he stood right in front of her and huddled herself tighter in an attempt to protect herself.

Garrett waited patiently for her to open her eyes. For when she did, her fear turned into confusion at seeing his hand held out to her. Garrett managed to look surprisingly non-threatening and kind despite the blood on his face and clothes. Her hesitant look and her reluctance to trust this stranger with her life after what's happened prompted him to nod reassuringly at her.

Even the women held in the pen had stopped trying to escape as they stared at the strange man, waiting for his next action.

Her eyes lingered on his hand with hesitance and fear, yet also a small hint of hope in them. Her hand slowly reached out towards his. Garrett stood perfectly still, not wanting to surprise and scare her with any sudden movements. Her fingers gently hovered over the palm of his hand before placing her hand on it as their skin finally touched. He gently closed his hand around her's before helping her stand.

The woman finally stood on her feet. Her knees slightly bowed as she covered herself with her arms, shivering from the breeze. Garrett turned around before making his way to one of the dead dothraki's corpse. He kicked the corpse on its stomach before pulling his leather cloth off. He walked back to the woman before draping it over her shoulders. She looked at him in surprise before muttering something in a language unknown to him. He assumed her to be thanking him as he nodded before turning his head to look at the rest of the women. Anger filled his thoughts as he saw girls barely old enough to bloom in the pen. He slowly walked over to the gate before suddenly lifting his sword and slamming its sharp edge against the gate lock. The metal severed in two.

Penrose gripped the gate before opening it and motioning for the women to follow him as he made his way to Daenerys and the rest. The young woman whom Garrett had saved walked up right next to him, causing him to look at her. She held the leather vest around herself tightly and looked at the ground. She clearly seemed shy as she refused to meet his eyes despite knowing his gaze was on her. Garrett spoke no words. If she felt safer close to him, so be it. He doubted she would understand him in any case. As his gaze landed on Daenerys, he saw that children had been cut free as a few of them ran towards the group behind Garrett, no doubt to one of their family.

Dany's eyes were filled with respect and gratitude yet also a small hint of fear at how brutal he seemed, although not even close to how brutal the dothraki were. Perhaps this is what happened in every battle-field. Jorah's eyes were filled with shame. Rakharo's eyes too showed respect, yet his was more reluctant. Daenerys' handmaidens all had a hint of fear in their expressions, yet it was overshadowed by their admiration for him. The only exception being Doreah, whose eyes reflected the burning desire she felt currently for him.

Garrett ignored the looks she sent him. Such behavior was to be expected from someone who has barely known anything more than the art of love in her life. Still, he couldn't help but be disturbed that she would have such thoughts during a time such as this. He always sensed there was something off about her. Which is why he refused her advances on him, among other reasons.

He decided to shrug it off mentally. No point in thinking on it now.

"…My gratitude, Garrett. You are a true knight."

Jorah felt a small pain in his chest at her words.

The stormlander only stared at her, his eyes betraying nothing. "Don't thank me now. Thank me if I decide not to try and murder your husband if he decides his men should keep these women as toys."

Dany was taken aback in shock by his bluntness. Garrett suddenly walked past her and made his way to the camp outside of the city where Drogo had set up to idle in while his men pillaged, the rescued women at his heel. Rakharo shook his head slowly, " _Tsk tsk._ _Don't let the Khal hear your words._ "

Garrett stopped in his tracks as he stared at him. " _If everyone emerges unscathed, make sure that after we have moved from this village, you tell him my exact words. Let him know if he ever, and I mean_ _ **ever**_ _, intends to take any innocents, be it man, woman or child, as simple pleasure toys for his horde, I will attempt to take his life in combat. I can barely tolerate him killing them, but to keep them as toys to make them suffer... I do not care if I fail or succeed. You make sure he knows it was_ _ **my**_ _words. Make sure he knows that all lambmen, women and children are now under my protection._ "

Rakharo's wide eyes revealed the surprise he felt. " _You are a fearless man, Son of Penrose. And you have my respect._ "

Garrett looked forward as he said, " _And you have mine, bloodrider._ " He finally continued walking forward, his hand lingering above the pommel of his sword. He was not fearless. In fact, he was terrified to go up against Khal Drogo. But he would not stand by and watch innocent people suffer anymore than they already have.

The young violet-eyed woman once again walked next to him. Though this time, their eyes finally met. His lips curved into a small reassuring smile. The girl blushed lightly and looked away, yet Garrett could see her own smile that she attempted to hide. His own smile fell as he remembered what he was about to do.

He glanced at the sky. And prayed to the gods he would live to see another dawn.

 **End of Flashback**

Garrett was broken out of his thoughts by a shout from behind him. Turning around, he saw Irri pointing off in the distance. He looked to where she pointed, and squinted while shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand. He felt relief as he recognized the horse of Rakharo riding towards them. He could barely see anything, the cause being the heatwaves distorting his vision. Suddenly confusion crossed his mind as he realized he couldn't see Rakharo himself.

Dread washed over him. He warned the young warrior to be careful.

He truly hoped Rakharo listened, but it seems he didn't.

His legs slowly carried him towards the horse's direction, getting faster and faster, "No. No, no, no, no, no, NO!"

He was finally running.

* * *

 **Jon**

Jon had always wondered who his mother was. Now that he found out, he didn't know what to do with the knowledge.

Even when he was no more than a child he would ask his father who she was. Yet he would always receive the same answer. The same refusal. He wouldn't speak a word of her. Jon's feelings were ambivalent, not knowing whether to feel angry and resentful of his father's refusal to even mention his mother, or to be understanding and even glad since it meant his father cared too much about his mother to speak of her without feeling pain.

He remembered how curious he was about her when he was younger. He wondered who his true mother was, and at first, suspected it to be Lady Catelyn. He remembered vividly how she shouted at him when he asked if she was his true mother and how she told him to never refer to her as such again.

But even now, when he knew who his mother was and that Eddard finally spoke of her, now that he finally knew her name… he didn't feel complete like he thought he would. It didn't fulfil him in anyway.

"Jon!" a robust voice almost shouted. Jon shook himself out of his musing, and turned to look at Lyonel, who sat at his table in his tent. Before he turned towards Jon, he had been writing a letter. Jon knew not to who, and didn't ask.

"Yes, my prince."

Lyonel stopped himself from correcting him. He'd forget to call him by his first name again later anyways. "I said you are dismissed. Join me once the meeting commences."

Jon, once again, found himself surprised, "You want me at the meeting?"

"By my side," Lyonel confirmed. "But now, rest. Relax."

"Forgive me, my prince, but I doubt being dismissed from my service will help me relax." Before, Jon would not even consider questioning Lyonel's orders. But now was different.

And he owed it to The Silent Storm himself.

 **Flashback**

He rode atop his horse, alongside Lyonel in the back of the royal party at a striding pace. Jon was troubled and had an arduous time hiding it. He understood the anger at The Hound for killing Mycah. But to shove his face in hot burning coal was simply too cruel. How could he even do such a thing so spontaneously? The man didn't even look fazed by what he had done afterwards.

Jon was beginning to doubt if Lyonel was as misunderstood as he had initially concluded.

As Jon glanced at Lyonel's face, he saw that Lyonel rolled his eyes in annoyance before tugging at his horse's reins and steering it into Jon's, forcing him to ride to the edge of the road, before halting his horse completely. Jon did the same, confusion on his face, "Is there a problem, my prince?"

The prince frowned, "There is. And you need to express it."

His confusion only increased, "I-I don't… What?"

Lyonel's frown did not disappear as he sighed silently in frustration as he looked to the side, staring off. Looking back at Jon, he asked, "Do you know why I chose you?"

"Because... I'm good with a blade?" Jon asked, not aware himself.

"I chose you because you are the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. You have a moral code to rival his. He taught you the difference between right and wrong. I chose you because you have something others lack. Integrity. Growing up a bastard of Eddard Stark did not only mean you matured faster than others, it meant you were taught honour. You are not some obedient animal to be ordered around to kill someone because I wished it. You can think for yourself. You can see me do something and say, 'I frown upon such a thing' or 'I oppose and disagree with it'. That's why I chose _you_."

Jon felt pride at the compliment from the prince, yet felt he had more to say.

"Do you agree with what I did to the hound?"

"W-what?"

"Do you think I did the right thing when I burned him and left him in the mud to put out his own melting face?"

Jon was at a loss for words. Could he speak up against the prince, the one who presented him with such a great opportunity?

"See, that is your flaw, bastard of Winterfell. You fear I would have you dishonourably dismissed from your position as my sworn shield. You have integrity yet you would abandon it in fear of disappointing your father and staining your family's honour. Then allow me ease your mind, bastard. If I do something you despise, don't hesitate to tell me. Tell me you disagree, speak your mind, tell me you will not stand for the horrid things I do. _Never_ abandon your ideals for what is right or wrong in this world for _anyone_. Not even if the gods themselves demanded it. Understood?"

Jon was nearly wide eyed at the end of his little speech. He didn't know what to say. ' _Perhaps I must do as he said. Speak my mind._ '

"…I was right to accept the position as your sworn shield, my prince. Yes, I understand."

Lyonel was surprised by his words, yet hid it and nodded, "Good. And if I ever order you to do something you strongly disapprove of, let's say I order you to kill an innocent. You do what you think is right, you take up that blade of yours and you run it through my belly if that is what it takes to stop me." Jon's eyes widened completely now. The prince was asking Jon to… kill him? Was integrity truly so important to him? Or did the prince fear he would turn evil in some way? He dismissed the latter as it would be rather random and unlikely.

"And do not do so because _I_ said so. Do so because it is what you think is right."

"…I understand."

Lyonel nodded, his frown gone alongside his annoyance.

"Come." Lyonel commanded as he turned his horse from the roadside and joined the royal party once more. Jon followed suit. He realized his respect for the prince had grown immensely. For someone as violent as Lyonel was, he truly had honour within him. As unconventional as it was.

 **Flashback End**

Lyonel sighed quietly to himself as he turned back to his letter and kept writing with a swift yet meticulous handwriting as he spoke, "Go see my sister."

Slightly taken aback, Jon's eyes looked that of a goldfish as surprise overcame him. Lyonel made it apparent he had no problem with Myrcella and Jon's infatuation with each other, yet never would Jon have thought he encouraged it. "W-why?"

Lyonel kept writing, his eyes never leaving the letter, "Reassurance."

His brows furrowed, "About what, my prince?"

"That you won't think differently about her."

"Why would-" Jon stopped himself as he realized what Lyonel was telling him. Myrcella dreaded he would think less of her now that everyone knew she was a spawn of incest. _'What an idiot I am! I hadn't spoken a single bloody word to her on the journey here, of course she'd think that! Fucking idiot, Jon!_ '

Never had Jon been so frustrated with himself. It was so obvious in hindsight. But he wasn't going to leave it at just cursing at himself. He had to mend his problem. He turned to face his entire body to Lyonel as he bowed his head respectfully, "My prince," before taking his leave.

Hastily, Jon tried to find his way to Myrcella's tent. Asking several soldiers, even ending up asking one of Lyonel's men, he finally found it. Staring at the tent flaps, he contemplated going in, hesitant. What should he say? Should he apologize for ignoring her? He had no experience in this. ' _Oh, what am I even waiting for?_ ' Determined to enter, Jon moved to open the flaps. Before he could do so, they opened to reveal Myrcella. She gasped in surprise, stopping herself from almost walking into him. She suddenly grew nervous and shy, realizing who stood in front of her, "O-oh, Jon? I-I didn't see you there, I-"

"I'm sorry," Jon stated suddenly.

Befuddled, Myrcella found herself unable to utter any words. Not needing to know what she wanted to ask, Jon continued, "I'm sorry I made you think I felt differently about you." Myrcella was truly wide-eyed, and yet felt some form of relief. "I was a selfish fool. I grieved for my father and did not even think of how you might have felt at the time. I… I should have been there for you."

Myrcella scoffed in disbelief, "Jon… Are you truly blaming yourself for such a thing?"

Jon found himself confused as he stopped to regain his breath before speaking, "What do you mean?"

Myrcella gripped him gently by his hand before leading him into her small tent. She dismissed the two guards to stand outside as she led him to her bed before sitting next to him. Myrcella sighed, "Jon… I don't even know what to say. Why would you even think that way? Your father died holding your hand while in his deathbed and yet you apologize for not thinking of me?" Jon understood now how irrational his apology was, but realized he still felt guilty. Her hand touched his cheek, causing him to recoil gently and blush before her hand reached towards it again, "You are too selfless, Jon. You think of others too much."

Despite how embarrassed he felt and how much he was blushing, his voice was surprisingly calm and steady, "No… only when it comes to you." Myrcella felt her heart race at his words. She smiled brightly and joyously. Jon continued, slightly distracted by her beautiful grin, "Otherwise I dig myself into my self-pity at being a bastard and I don't even realize how selfish I'm being. Even now that I know, I still do it."

She lowered her hand to place it on his, "But why are you ashamed? I thought Lyonel had beaten it into your head enough that you'd understand that you never should be ashamed."

Jon fell silent as he looked forward before placing his forearms on his legs, "It's not because of that anymore…" he sighed looking at the ground in front of him. "Before my father… died… he told me something I've always wanted to know my entire life. He finally told me who my mother was."

Her expression portrayed surprise clearly, "Truly? Who?"

"…Her name was Ashara Dayne. She… she committed suicide after she found out her brother had died at the hands of her lover… after her lover had come to take her only child with him back to his home."

Myrcella covered her mouth with her hand, "By the gods, Jon…"

"I always suspected she was dead. Father was always too pained to speak of her, so it truly didn't surprise me."

"Then what is it that's vexing you?"

"You mean other than that all I know of my mother is her name and that she committed suicide because I was taken from her?" He sighed, shoulder's slouched and expression brooding. "I thought I'd be… happy or that I'd find peace. But honestly... I feel worse. I feel lonelier than ever before."

Myrcella cupped his cheeks, turning his head towards her, "You are never alone. You have Robb, Arya, your younger brothers, Tommen once you get to know him and even Lyonel… You have me."

Before Jon could react to her words, she quickly leaned forward to place a kiss on his forehead.

Staggered, Jon almost jumped back, his face red like a tomato and his shoulders tensed. He stuttered and stammered like a half-wit, unable to pronounce anything that could be comprehended by a human, before she placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. His eyes were less wide and his shoulders relaxed.

Barely holding in her laughter at his reaction, Myrcella spoke with an entertained voice, "Don't say anything." Her smile fell, and her voice turned low and trembling, "I only hope you feel the same for me."

Jon locked gazes with her, staring, "…I do."

Her eyes widened, "Truly?"

His head gently nodded up and down, "I feel something for you that I have never felt for any other girl. You treated me with kindness, worried half to death after I was attacked, gifted me something to cherish." She knew he spoke of the handkerchief with an embroidery of Ghost on it that she had made for him. "No one has ever done something like that for me. My brothers and sisters may have gifted me a sword before, and I truly appreciated it… But never has anyone truly _made_ a symbolic gift for me. A gift meant to remind me that someone went out of their way to make my day happier by giving it to me."

Myrcella stared at him before almost jumping him and embracing him tightly. Not only had he returned her feelings for him, he also treasured a small gift from her and truly appreciated it, no matter how mundane of a gift it was.

As they pulled back, Jon had an unreadable expression. "What's wrong, Jon?"

"Nothing… just something you said."

"What?"

He was clearly hesitant to say it. "Jon, be honest with me. If I said anything wrong-"

"No, not at all. I simply have a hard time believing Lyonel would always be there for me."

"Why wouldn't he?"

Once again, he was hesitant to say it. "He wasn't there for me when…" He stopped himself, not wanting to risk revealing what Myrcella doesn't know.

She realized what he spoke of, "You mean when you were attacked?"

Jon nodded, not surprised in the least at how quickly she came to the conclusion. If his time with her taught him anything, it was that her heart was golden and her mind as sharp as a straight razor's edge. Myrcella smiled knowingly, "If only you knew."

He stared at her, surprised as his eyes tried to read her, "I'm not sure I follow."

She glanced at him. ' _I'm sure he won't mind if I tell Jon._ '

She opened her mouth to speak.

* * *

 **Garrett**

 _'This can't be happening!'_ is what was running through his head as he sprinted towards Rakharo's horse. Why could he not see him? What happened to Rakharo?

As he got closer, he began seeing two protruding… things. He couldn't tell what it was until the horse started making its way to him as well. They looked like sticks with feathers on the tip.

' _Arrows!_ ' his mind shouted at him. He noticed the arrows were not embedded into the horse, but something else… No, someone else. Garrett realized Rakharo was still on the horse, probably near unconsciousness, barely keeping himself on the horse's back. The arrows were embedded into his back! Garrett ran as fast as his legs could take him without faltering from the burning in his muscles alone.

His hand quickly gripped the reins of the horse when he arrived, and stopped the horse.

He stared at Rakharo as he tried to lift himself up. His strength failed and he fell. Luckily, Garrett caught him, almost falling from Rakharo's weight himself. He slowly lowered him, still in his arms, "Rakharo!"

The dothraki mumbled something quietly. Unable to hear, Garrett questioned him, his voice worried, " _I cannot hear you, brother._ "

He lifted his arm slowly before motioning with his hand for the knight to lean in. Once he did, Rakharo spoke again, this time more clearly, " _I would not have lived had it not been for your warning. I owe you my life, and my braid, warrior of Penrose._ "

He heard a few men and women shouting behind him, their voices getting louder the closer they got as they ran. His concern only grew, " _Do not speak, friend. Save your strength._ "

Rakharo lifted his head slightly and locked eyes with Garrett, a small smile gracing his now weathered face, " _Their pathetic bowmen cannot aim for shit._ " Garrett gave a short, nervous laugh to try and lighten the mood somehow, anything to stop him from thinking the worse. " _Remove the worry from your eyes, Garrett. As I said, their bowmen cannot aim if it would save their lives. The arrows did not pierce anything important, or I would be dead already._ "

He shook his head slowly, " _Then why do you look ready to faint._ " Rakharo didn't even try to mend his wounded pride. There was no way he would convince the westerosi that he was fine.

" _The heat, hunger and thirst. But their arrows are barbed. You must push them through before breaking them off._ "

The few people who ran, including Daenerys and Jorah, had finally arrived. They quickly took him from Garrett's arms as Jorah held his waterskin to Rakharo's lips. Rakharo drank from it ravenously, in bliss as the water staved his thirst and heat, even if it was by a little.

Garrett stood up and backed away slowly, staring at them as they proceeded to help the dothraki warrior with the arrows in his back. He stared on in concern for his friend. To his surprise, he felt a hand placed on his arm gently. He turned to see that it was her.

The violet-eyed woman.

"He will live. Don't worry."

He turned to stare at Rakharo again. Jorah sent a few servants to retrieve something, he couldn't hear what,"…How do you know?"

"I will help. I was one of the healers at the temple, remember?"

"Daenerys refused to let another lambwoman to-"

"Lhazar," she corrected, a small frown marring her beautiful face. "You are no dothraki, so do not insult my people as if you were one of them."

"You know I meant nothing by it, Lyarra."

Her eyes lingered on him, slightly annoyed that he wouldn't meet her eyes. But she couldn't take it as an insult. If a friend of hers would be in Rakharo's state, she too would not be able to help but worry. Her soft voice whispered, "I know."

"In any case, she refuses to let another Maegi near her wounded again."

She made it apparent she didn't care as she walked over to them and kneeled before ordering the servants around, telling them to make room and help by bringing any medicine and bandages. As she tried to lay her hand on Rakharo's back, Daenerys tightly gripped her arm, stopping it. Lyarra slowly looked up at her, unfazed and unworried.

"You will not lay your hands on my blood!"

Lyarra smiled before chuckling shortly, "Oh, believe me, Stormborn. Your wishes and opinions mean less to me than you care for Mirri Maz Duur. Do not think I do this for _him_ either," she said as she motioned her head to Rakharo, who had drifted off into unconsciousness. "I do this because _Garrett_ wishes for his friend's survival. I will do anything in my power to make sure that happens. I had no intentions of using blood magic in any case. Now, you can stay here and help, or if you believe yourself above the station of a simple healer, you can stand back or better yet, leave. You'll only get in the way."

Daenerys didn't bother to hide her anger and offence, yet stayed silent before standing and moving to Jorah's side, glaring at her.

Lyarra's had the servant hoist Rakharo's torso before removing his leather jacket. She ordered them to place him down and put her left hand on his shoulder before her right gripped the arrow in his back.

"No!" Garrett exclaimed loudly. She turned around with a confused look. "The arrows are barbed. Pull them out and you rip open his back."

She turned to one of the servants. The girl looked panicked and fearful. No doubt she was just learning the art of healing. " _Bring me Salamander's Bloom_."

" _I-I don't know what that is_!" The girl had no experience in healing a man near death from not only hunger and heat, but also two arrows.

Lyarra gripped the girl's wrist softly, " _Look at me._ _Look into my eyes_." The girl did so, her lips trembling and her eyes slightly wide. " _Calm down. Everyone is going to do their best to help this man. The only thing you need to do is to do **your** best_. _Alright_?"

The girl calmed her breathing before nodding. " _Good. Now, the Salamander's Bloom is an herb with spotted leaves, just like the scale of a salamander. You should find it with the rest of the supplies in a jar. Bring it here and we will feed a small dose of it to him. It will put him to sleep and sedate him, preventing him from waking up because of the pain once we push the arrows through._ "

The girl nodded before running off to the rest of the convoy, who were currently making their way to them. A few minutes later and the girl came back, carrying a jar with a spotted herb in it. "Is this the one?"

Daenerys stepped forward in protest, "How will I know you are not trying to poison the herb with your magic before feeding it to him?"

"With blood magic? In front of you all without any of you noticing? Don't be foolish."

Jorah stepped forward, "You will speak to your Khaleesi with respe-"

"ENOUGH!" Garrett shouted, startling everyone but Lyarra. "This is Rakharo's life for gods' sake! Now is not the time for you to worry about your pride, Khaleesi! This is our _friend_ and he's dying! If he does, he will be gone forever!"

Daenerys stared at him, realizing he's right. She reluctantly nodded before once again backing off and settling for glaring at the Lhazar woman.

Lyarra nodded before she took the jar from her with a 'thank you'. The girl brightened up slightly, yet the worry was still evident. She ordered them to wake Rakharo as she ripped an herb in half. He woke up, confused as he was lying on his stomach. The servants helped him to his knees and Lyarra gave him the Salamander's Bloom. He was reluctant, yet finally ate it once Garrett told him if Rakharo didn't, he would force it down his throat himself. It did not take long for the effect of the herb start working as he fell on his stomach again.

Lyarra turned to Garrett, "The girls here can help me lift him. You will push the arrows halfway through before breaking the arrow tip off and pulling out the other half out."

Garrett nodded with a serious look on his face. The servants hoisted Rakharo up again and Garrett gripped the arrows before attempting to push them through. His hands slipped from the sweat and he frowned in frustration before wiping his hand on his armour plate. Digging his hands into the sand, Garrett rubbed his hands together before once again attempting to push the arrows through. This time he succeeded. It seemed bizarre how Rakharo didn't wake up. It was as if he'd already been dead.

He proceeded to snap the arrow tips off before pulling the other half out of his back. The servants, under Lyarra's direction, helped clean, stitch and bandage his wounds.

Garrett breathed out in relief and closed his eyes before thanking the seven for bringing back his comrade. Perhaps it was the Stallion, but he truly didn't care. He was simply glad his friend had followed his warning. Who knows what would have happened had he not cautioned the rash dothraki. He didn't know what was more surprising. That Rakharo survived or that he actually followed an advice of caution.

He opened his eyes in time to see Lyarra turning her head as she bandaged Rakharo's wound. Their eyes locked before she smiled softly. Garrett couldn't stop the corners of his own lips from curving upwards.

* * *

 **Arya**

They were in a tent more embellished than others. With a more comfortable bed and refined chairs and table were placed inside. It seems more time had been spent on making them look prettier than actually being a sturdy and resilient seat. No doubt fitting for a lady.

Arya was thankful her tent was nothing like this one. Far too many useless details in her opinion. She smiled to herself. It seems Lyonel's pragmatism had rubbed off on her.

"What occupies your thoughts, Arya?"

As she sat in front of her mother on the seat she had been offered, Arya's smile fell as she found herself perplexed, not knowing how to explain her feelings, "I'm not sure how to explain it."

Catelyn smiled motherly, "Perhaps by telling me what it is, I can help."

She shifted in her seat, Nymeria by her side, confused and tilting her head at what her companion was doing, "I… it's a feeling I have."

"A feeling in general or a feeling directed to a person?"

Arya stilled her tongue, hesitant to even answer the question. ' _Nothing will be better if I stay quiet._ '

Deciding to answer, Arya looked at the ground, unable to meet her mother's eyes, and spoke in a low voice "A person."

With a witting smile on her lips, Catelyn sat down in front of her daughter, "And could, by any chance, this person be prince Lyonel?" Arya blushed, noiseless as her gaze lingered on the grass. Catelyn required no verbal answer. Her daughter's reaction was answer enough. "And tell me, how do you feel about the prince?"

"…I feel… I don't know…. My heartbeat loses control when I see him and my body warms, my chest especially. I keep blushing every time he looks me in the eye… When we train, I can't help but stare at him constantly as he spars with Syrio. And if I am away from him for even an hour, I begin to… miss him. It began a couple of days before we arrived in King's Landing, and it my feelings grew more intense."

Arya kept staring until she finally met her mother's eyes, "I've never felt this way about anyone before."

Catelyn brushed her hair aside to kiss her cheek before leaning back with a kind smile, "You cannot begin to understand how much joy this brings me."

Confused, Arya stared at her mother before querying, "Why?"

Realization dawned on her mother as she pulled back, surprise on her face, "You don't even realize what these feelings mean, do you?"

Arya shook her head slowly, "No." She thought it obvious. She said she'd never felt this way before. Wait… what was she feeling?

Catelyn reached out before slowly clasping her daughter's hand, her smile still plastered on her face, "Arya. You're falling for Lyonel."

Her eyes widened, almost choking on her breath and taken aback by this revelation, "W-what!?"

Her mother swiftly soothed her worries, "It's absolutely nothing to worry about. This is a good thing. Your marriage will turn out wonderful."

Arya's mind was in turmoil. She was falling for someone!? To Lyonel no less?! Why did it have to be him?! Why would someone like him ever want someone as ugly as Arya Horseface when he could have anyone he wants?

As her maternal instincts took over, Catelyn quickly noticed Arya's face fall and her eyes sadden, "What troubles you, sweet wolf?"

Arya looked at her mother, surprised yet with a small smile adorning her now-saddened visage. Only her father used to call her 'sweet wolf'. Her smile quickly faded, "Why would he ever return my… feelings for him? How could anyone love someone as ugly as me?" Her father had already reassured her of the subject before, but this was not about Lyonel accepting the betrothal or accepting her as a friend. This was about him accepting her… feelings for him.

Catelyn's bright blue eyes widened, "Arya! Why would you say something like that?"

"Sansa always calls me 'Arya Horseface'. She's pretty, she should know."

Catelyn spoke with a determined voice, "Arya, don't ever think that way again. Sansa doesn't mean that."

"Yes she does, and you can't deny that! Not after she lied and almost had Nymeria killed!" The mentioned wolf whined, saddened by the betrayal she felt. Catelyn found herself surprised. Did the direwolf actually understand what they were saying?

Shaking the subject from her mind, she turned to Arya, "It does not change the fact that it's not true. Your father always said you looked like his sister, Lyanna. He told me you would grow up to look like her. And you know the tales of her beauty. In fact, I would go as far as to say her beauty has already begun manifesting."

Arya looked at her mother, a small glimmer of hope, "Truly..?"

"Truly," the Stark Matriarch confirmed. "Lyanna was also sensitive about her looks when she was younger. Yet she grew up to be the most beautiful creature in Westeros."

Arya looked at the ground, unsure. "Tell me, Arya. Even if you were ugly, which I assure you that you are not, should your looks truly matter? _Does_ it matter to Lyonel?"

Arya looked up, "I'm not… sure…"

"You are sure, that's just your insecurity speaking through you. You _know_ it doesn't matter. His mother was gorgeous and yet abused him as a child, beating him for defending himself and his siblings."

Her eyes widened, "How did you kno-"

"I heard rumours of how he defended you in the tavern at the trident. Word travels fast, especially when it involves the firstborn prince and the queen's true side exposed to The Seven Kingdoms. By the second born prince no less. In fact, all rumours of _The Silent Storm_ seem to travel fast. But ask yourself this. Does he truly think looks mean anything? When someone as beautiful as his mother had treated him as she did? I'd say he knows being with someone of pleasing appearance will not bring him happiness if they turn out to be foul and cruel."

Arya had brightened up by the end of her mother's arguments. She was right!

Yet Catelyn was not finished, "And think of it this way. If you are beautiful now, and will only grow more so, and you are also a close friend to him, think of how much _he_ will grow to love _you_."

Arya was fully convinced, not that she wasn't unattractive, but that Lyonel would not care. Nymeria suddenly licked her hand, prompting her to look at the direwolf. Even Nymeria seemed to be happy for her.

Lady Stark continued, "I have also found something interesting, something I found out quite a time ago."

"What?"

"It is not the lack of love that spawns unhappy marriages."

"Really?" Catelyn nodded. Arya looked thoughtful, before meeting her eyes, "Then what does?"

Leaning forward, she smiled sadly, reminiscing, "I found that it is the lack of friendship, not love, which destroys marriages. If this was not true, I never would have loved your father. I never loved him from the start, but I began to, thanks to our friendship. It only grew…" As her reminiscing stopped, her Tully blue eyes met Stark grey eyes, "The friendship you share with Lyonel is like none other I have ever seen before."

Arya seemed to perk up, an inquisitive look on her face, "Why do you say that? I mean, I know we're close friends, but surely you must have seen others as close as we are if not more."

"Because he does something very, very few would do with a lady fr-"

"I'm not a lady."

"Very few would do with a _lady_ …" Catelyn said, putting emphasis on the word 'lady', "…friend." Not needing to ask, Arya stared at her mother as she continued. "Have you noticed anything about how lords are in the presence of other lords?"

Slightly surprised by the random question, Arya's expression turned into one of confusion, "Um… how do you mean exactly?"

"What do men have that separates them from most women personality-wise?"

Arya shrugged, and rather confused at the sudden change of questions.

"Men have a certain code, different from that of women, how to dress, how to act and among other things, even going so far as to having a code on how to relieve themselves in the restroom."

Arya didn't know whether to be disgusted or dumbfounded. Deciding to be both, she stared at her mother with a disgusted expression as she said, "Ew, really?"

Catelyn chuckled, nodding her head, "Indeed they do. They're very nit-picking when it comes to men's code. Apparently, one is meant to stand up when-"

Arya panicked, almost jumping from her seat, along with Nymeria who jumped to alert, as she quickly reassured her mother, "NO, no, I'm alright, I don't need to know, and I most definitely do NOT need the images in my head!"

The lady nearly burst out laughing at her daughter's reaction, almost red faced as she watched Arya calm down before sitting back in her seat. Her wolf settled down in a lying position as well. She stared at the ground in disbelief before looking at Catelyn again, "Really?!"

A nod. "That's so stupid!"

Another nod in agreement, "Indeed it is. Although in their eyes, it's a way of principle."

"It's still idiotic. Why can't they just let a man 'relieve' himself the way he wants? Why do most men have to put so many rules up, why can't they just let everything be the way they are?"

' _It is the same thing as men saying women shouldn't be doing things such as practicing their skill with a sword or horse riding. All the idiotic laws set up in Westeros are because of men and women who want others to either be like them, or to serve them. People are so stupid and selfish sometimes, it's not fair!_ '

The matriarch shrugged, "I don't know." Leaning in closer to her daughter, she spoke in a lower voice, an almost mischievous expression on her face, a very odd thing for someone as proper as Catelyn Stark, "Don't let the men hear _anyone_ say this but, in my opinion, some men are just so desperate to prove how 'manly' they are, they make these silly rules and say that the rules alone make them manly and strong."

Arya smiled mischievously as well, giggling.

Her mother continued, "In any case, you know this already, the fact that men have a certain set of rules. But the point I am making is this. Just as men have a code of principles, lords have one that they follow in the presence of others. And bear in mind, this 'code' is even more important for Lord Paramounts and those in the royal family as they have many vassals that answer to them."

Arya nodded to show she was paying attention.

"Lords always speak with an authoritative tone in front of other lords to show strength. They also never act as they would with a friend or a family member during their free time that they would in front of other figures of influence and power as to not show weakness or to put up a stoic and intimidating mask. They speak formally and are well mannered, but also stern, never letting their guard down to even simply smile or laugh at seeing someone close to them."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because, Arya, haven't you noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

"Noticed how _he_ relaxes whenever he sees you? Noticed how he does not put up a false mask to impress other lords? Noticed how he only cares what you think, not caring what others will when they see the second born prince acting relaxed and happy around a friend even in front of other lords, around a girl of four-and-ten no less?" In truth, Catelyn had heard of the events during the morning training. The prince brutalized a soldier for dismissing Arya callously and rudely when she asked if Lyonel wished to train with her once he had time. This was the reason Catelyn was completely certain how much Arya meant to him.

Arya's eyes widened, surprised at how she never noticed.

"And remember, he's a prince. It is even more important for him to put up a strong front. Yet he refuses to when he's with you."

Arya stared at her mother, not knowing what to say. Suddenly realizing something, Arya's expression turned sceptic, "But Lyonel never acts different in front of anyone? He's always himself."

"Is he? Is he silent when with you? No. Is he silent when with others? Yes."

"But… it's still not acting. He simply has no interest in talking with people he doesn't like." It was true. Lyonel said so himself the first time they met when she inquired as to why he spoke.

"Does it truly matter? It only means you are a truly exceptional friend to him if he isn't living up to his name of 'The Silent Storm' when in your presence. Because he does in fact have an interest in being with you."

As Arya realized her mother spoke the truth, she seemed to brighten up even more.

Something her mother noticed, "I'm right, am I not?" Arya could tell it was more of a statement than a question.

She nodded, "Yes… Thank you, mother."

"Of course." Catelyn suddenly had a confused expression on her face, "You're far too strong-willed for this to be normal. I never thought you'd be this doubtful of yourself, Arya."

Arya shrugged, "I never thought I'd fall for someone."

"A sound point."

The sceptic look returned on her face, "Wait, since when did you become so comfortable talking about these things?"

Catelyn's eyebrows rose slightly in light surprise, "I didn't realize I gave the impression that I would rarely speak of love and friendship."

"What? No, not that. I meant that… you know… men have a code on how to… 'relieve' themselves."

Her mother laughed, "Oh sweet Arya. I may be proper most of the time but even I need to… _drop_ the act, so to speak. I can't be a proper lady all the time. It would be far too boring to never speak of personal or inappropriate things."

Arya soon started to laugh as well.

"Besides, many ladies do speak of these things when they are together with no men nearby, just as men speak of their own personal things when there are no girls nearby. Though do not think it will be often we speak of these kinds of things. But if you happen to have something you need relieved from your mind, speak now. It won't be often we can have these talks."

She stared at the ground once her mother was finished. "I can't believe I'm in love with Lyonel."

"Love? No, no, no. What you're feeling is not love."

She looked up at her, "But you said-"

"That you're falling for him, yes. But true, genuine love… What you're feeling now cannot even begin to compare to it. You won't feel true love for him now, or even in a few months' time. It will take perhaps a couple of years of you two being together. Even then, for you to know it's genuine love, you'd have to go through many hardships together and still love each other."

"Oh…"

Catelyn stared at her, "…But… I have a feeling you two will have something truly special together. I cannot say why, for I myself don't know. It's just a… feeling I have."

Arya smiled at her mother before staring downwards again. Somehow, she wanted her and Lyonel to have something special. And deep down, she was truly happy it was him she fell for. In her eyes, there were few people like The Silent Storm. It was unreal to her. She met her childhood hero, and not only did he meet her expectations, he also surpassed them. Greatly so. The thought of her hero and her together, in love… She felt overjoyed simply thinking about it.

Is this how Sansa felt every time a knight simply even glanced at her? Arya would say she finally understood why, but she couldn't, seeing as how Sansa didn't even know any of the knights she swooned over.

Her smile suddenly fell. Arya soon began to blush as she remembered what she felt when she saw Lyonel relieved of his leather tunic.

"There's more?"

She looked up in surprise, "H-how..?"

"Tell me."

This time, Arya felt truly hesitant, her blush getting redder by the second. "I don't think I want to…"

"Arya, I told you we won't have many times to talk like this. Unburden your thoughts by sharing. Even if it is inappropriate. You had already bloomed two years ago, but it is now you're truly beginning to grow into a woman. And I may be a lady, but I am no prim and prudish septa. Currently, I am a mother educating her daughter. Go on. Tell me what may be provoking these desires."

Arya stared at her. How did she know she was feeling desire? Had her mother felt it herself? Perhaps she shouldn't be so startled. Robb did say it was normal.

Unknown to her, the blush was a dead giveaway.

"It's, um… So… today the men were sparring and…"

"Don't worry. Collect your thoughts. Describe what made you feel the way you did and why it did."

Arya closed her eyes before inhaling, calming her breath and heartbeat slightly, before opening her eyes, "Okay… today the men were sparring, as I said. And The Greatjon challenged… Lyonel… to a fight, to prove he was strong. And when Lyonel accepted, he began…" She drifted off, doubting if she should continue.

"Yes..?"

She now began staring off to the side, unable to even look in her mother's direction, "…He began… removing his… tunic."

Catelyn's eyes widened, realizing where her daughter was going. "And you saw him bare his torso."

Arya nodded, "Yes…" As Arya caught a glimpse of Nymeria, she saw her… roll her eyes? Was she so ridiculous that a direwolf actually rolled her eyes at her? Shrugging it off mentally as her imagination, she turned to look at the ground again.

"And how did it make you feel?"

"Well it made… My heart race again… except not in the same way as when I meet his eyes… This felt different. My body became even warmer and my breath quickened too."

"I see…" Catelyn herself hesitated to say it. ' _I told her I would educate her. She has to know what she's feeling._ '

"Arya. What you're feeling is called… arousal."

Arya blushed even more. She remembered sneaking from her septa's lessons and running around Winterfell. She would ofttimes run past the brothel, and usually on the balcony stood Ros, the redheaded pleasure girl. She would tease Arya with little bits of details describing her 'experiences' with 'visitors'. Among one of the describing words were _arousal_. And Arya would never admit it, but she couldn't help but be curious as to how it felt.

And she found herself slightly disappointed.

"Oh… so that's how arousal feels like?"

Catelyn nodded, "Only a small bit, I imagined. But arousal can become very strong. I imagine what you felt was only a tiny bit since all you did was look at his body. But rest assured, it is completely natural. And there is nothing for you to be ashamed of. As long as you don't go around speaking of it to everyone. You must still carry yourself with pride, for you are a Stark. Don't go around speaking with a bordello girl's tongue. Understood?"

Arya nodded. "As long as I know it's normal… I'll be fine."

"Good. And if you ever feel anything similar yet find yourself still confused, don't hesitate to come to me. We can speak of it. Although in a time of war, I doubt I will have many opportunities."

She nodded once again before standing up, along with Catelyn, before embracing her, "Thank you mother. I feel less confused now."

As she pulled backed, Catelyn's motherly smile returned, "Of course. Now run along. A meeting will start soon and I should get prepared."

With a nod and another 'thank you', Arya took her leave, Nymeria at her heels. When she finally arrived at her own tent, she laid down on her bed, her left arm hanging down the side to pet Nymeria's head as she tried to process everything she had been told.

She was still in disbelief. She wasn't like Sansa, she was no blushing maiden waiting to be married to some knight in shining armour. She didn't want to be like her mother, doing the same thing every day in the same castle. She wanted to go on adventures, from cold wasteland called north of The Wall to the exotic oasis called the dornish castles, including the water gardens in Sunspear itself.

She wanted to sail to the free cities, to fight with The Golden Company and to visit even farther east, to not only fight with warriors of different lands, but also to learn of their culture. Lyonel's stories of the different cultures of the free cities, Yi Ti and even the Summer Isles, and their myths and legends, had sparked a fire in her. She found out she desired to learn more of them, of their traditions and their ways. She wanted to do all of this in her life.

Yet she was beginning to fall for Lyonel.

Shaking her head to herself, Arya firmly refused to see her feelings for Lyonel as something negative. ' _Father told me Lyonel would give me more freedom than I could ever have. He would never stop me if I wanted to go to those places._ ' She knew so. But the more she thought about it, the more she felt reluctant to do so. For that would mean she would leave her family behind. She would leave _him_ behind.

Once again, Arya shook those thoughts out of her head. Now was not the time for thinking so far into the future. They still had a war on their hands. She sighed. She always had the bad habit of thinking too far ahead, while also not thinking of all the probable possibilities.

As her eyes slowly closed, her mind went the man who had been occupying her thoughts for the entire day. The gift he gave her was something she was not going to forget. He came up with an idea that could change warfare and even intrigue forever, yet in the end saw all the death it could cause. Instead he decided to give the only thing his genius idea spawned and gave it to her. The gift was a one of a kind in the entire world, or at least she thinks so. Either way, it's an exceptionally rare item.

She couldn't wait to show it to her brothers. But first she had to learn how to open it as dextrously as Lyonel did. All while trying not to lose one of her fingers that is.

Opening her eyes, she removed her hand from Nymeria's fur before standing up from the bed. Taking the hilt from her belt holster, Arya stood in a sideways stance, just as Syrio taught her, before gripping the ironwood hilt tightly.

She took a deep breath, before preparing to spin it in her hands.

* * *

 **Lyonel**

He sighed silently in relief. He was done with the letter. All that was left to do was to wait for Garrett's animal companion to arrive. Yet something in the back of his mind kept eating away at him, filling his mind with paranoia and concern. What truly bothered him was that these thoughts were completely rational. Something has happened to Garrett and it isn't good.

Yet there were other things pestering him as well. The voices came back. Again. He heard them whisper and he barely noticed them. That was before they escalated into… this.

The voices surrounded him. He heard them from the front, back and his sides. And they kept growing louder and more intense.

Why wouldn't they shut up?

Lyonel supressed an irritated growl. The voices wouldn't stop. Why do they even still exist, why was this happening to him?! ' _You are nothing. You are worth less than the dirt under your boot. MONSTER! You never should have been fucking born, you miserable pile of shit!_ '

On the verge of shouting, Lyonel gripped the inked feather tip in his hand tightly, before the voices suddenly stopped.

His eyes were wide and confused. What happened? Why was everything so abrupt?

Suddenly, another voice spoke, this one slightly muffled. Yet it didn't come from his head.

It came from behind him.

"Quite the following you managed to assemble out there."

Lyonel almost jumped from his seat and to a sideways stance, drawing his blade swiftly before gripping its hilt far too tightly for normal. His eyes stayed wide as he saw a man in front of him. He wore pitch black leather armour, with a matching cloak and hood that cast a shadow over his eyes. He wore a mask covering his mouth. To Lyonel's surprise, the mask represented the mouth of the lion-like creature from his dream. Black with sharp teeth, and two large protruding canine fangs. One could see the man's actual mouth move through the space between the two fangs. The lion mouth was opened, causing it to look like it was roaring.

What truly caught his attention was the man's eyes. They were emerald green, and they were glowing through the darkness. Brightly at that.

The man crossed his arms before waving his hand nonchalantly for Lyonel to put his blade away, "Oh, don't bother. I'm not here to hurt you."

Lyonel could tell the man was young. In fact, he was about as young as Lyonel himself. He stared with a blank expression. The man sighed while rolling his eyes, speaking with a disinterested voice "If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't have announced myself, pinhead."

"How did you get past the guards?"

The man seemed to have a relaxed stance, "Oh, quite easy actually." Turning around rather comically, the man separated the tent flaps to reveal the two guards, still staring forward on alert as they guarded the entrance to his tent.

The man stared at them, shifting his head towards each of them before shouting in one of the guard's ear, "'EY, COCK-DIRT!"

Lyonel was shocked and stunned to see that the man didn't react at all. As if the man didn't even exist to him. No reaction what so ever.

The man allowed the tent flaps to close. He spread his arms as if saying 'There you have it' and shrugged, "Wasn't exactly a challenge." He walked over to Lyonel's bed before jumping on it, placing his hands behind his head as he laid down staring at the top of the tent.

Lyonel looked at the man, shocked and speechless, before looking back at the direction of the guard, before looking back and forth between the two. He finally looked back at the stranger a final time, "What the fuck!?"

The man couldn't even be decent enough to look at him as he spoke, "Woah, you kiss your lady mother with that tongue? Actually, don't answer that. Probably have, considering the situation with your mother and her brother. Wouldn't exactly come off as a shocker if you did."

Lyonel frowned deeply, marring his face with anger, his other fist clenching into a fist.

The man decided to grace the prince with his glowing gaze as he held up his hands in a rather hollow attempt to placate him, "Bloody hell, ever heard of a jape?"

"Who are you?!"

He stared at Lyonel, his hands still up as he stared at him, before suddenly sitting up at the bedside and leaning forward, his voice turning serious, "I'm inevitable."

Lyonel's brows furrowed in a mix of anger and confusion, "What does that mean?"

The man stared for a while, not moving an inch. Suddenly, he spoke, rolling his eyes at himself, "Okay, I'll admit, I tried to sound cryptic, but honestly ended up making myself seem like the most conventional and typical mysterious fucking figure out there. But you'll figure it out soon… I hope. But I will tell you this. What caused me has already happened."

Lyonel stared, confused beyond belief as his mind tried to make sense of his words. ' _Or perhaps he's attempting to bewilder my thoughts. Although to what end… I cannot say for sure._ '

The man giggled oddly and mischievously, "Ooh, I love sounding so mysterious. Makes me sound like _such_ an enigmatic renegade." Lyonel stared at him, his confusion only growing. The man stared back, "Soooo… are you… maybe going to say anything?"

"…What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Oh, for the love of- Okay, look. Who I am will be revealed later, I'm sure. Oh, and be prepared. I am your enemy, just not in the way you think. Until then, you won't see me again. I could barely make it out of that place this time. Perchance you'll remember earlier than I expect so I can get this over with. I _hate_ waiting."

"Make it out? From where? And what are you waiting for?"

Lyonel could almost see the man smile mischievously under the mask, "Can't spoil the surprise, can I? Don't worry, you won't be rid of me once I go soon, I'll be back. I control the place now and there's no one else to oppose me. Once you remember, I can finally come after you."

He frowned again, raising his blade, "So you're an assassin."

The man froze, dumbfounded. "What? I'm not a- what the fuck are you- are you even- I'm not… Alright, you know what? Fuck this. You'll make sense of it later," The cloaked figure said as he threw his arms up in the air in exasperation and marched towards Lyonel. The prince thrust his blade forward, piercing the man's belly. The stranger's eyes widened, before the shape of his glowing eyes changed. Judging from the way the eyes' shape changed, he was most likely frowning.

Pulling his arm back, he suddenly swung his hand at Lyonel's face to slap him.

 ** _SMACK_** _!_

His eyes snapped open to find the person gone. His hand went to his cheek and found that nothing had happened. He was simply standing up and staring at the tent entrance. He hadn't even unsheathed his blade. None of the guards seemed to react from outside the tent, so he wasn't speaking either.

He stared forward, slack-jawed and unable to think properly.

' _What in the name of the old gods was that?_ '

His eyes widened even more as he heard a silent, yet somehow echoing laughter. One he barely noticed.

He had a feeling that he'd be seeing that man sooner than he'd like.

His tent flaps opened, and Lyonel shook himself out of his bewildered trance. A Stark page no older than Lyonel himself, nervous yet made a good attempt to seem firm and brave. He wasn't used to being around royalty and was afraid to embarrass himself, in front of a prince of Lyonel's repute no less.

"Y-your grace-"

"Prince," he corrected. The war was far from won, and Lyonel was yet to win his crown and kingdoms.

"My apologies, my prince. But the Lannisters have sent an emissary to you but he is currently with L-Lord Stark. Lord Stark requests that you come receive the emissary, my prince."

He nodded, his face neutral, "Where?"

"My lord told me that the emissary is to be received during the meeting at the main tent."

Lyonel nodded, his face turning into a gentle frown as his eyes lingered on the ground. Noticing the page was unaware of what to do, his eyes flicked to the boy, "Dismissed."

The page nodded quickly before leaving.

The prince turned around and stared at the table where he'd placed the ink and quill. Realizing something, he opened the palm of his hand and saw the ink that had seeped into the shallow cracks of his palm, filling them.

Clenching his hand once more, Lyonel strode out of his tent before making his way to where the men kept the food, water and wine.

As he arrived, his other hand stopped a soldier who bore the white merman as a sigil adorning the shield on his back. He looked as old as his uncle Stannis. A look of surprise was the man's response as he turned to see who placed their hand on his shoulder before recognizing him as the prince, "Your grace?" He couldn't be bothered to correct the soldier.

Judging by the stench of his breath, this man would know which barrel contains wine and which doesn't. Lyonel would see for himself if the large barrels weren't placed sideways. "Water." he said, motioning his head towards the barrels.

Slightly taken aback in confusion at the random question, the Manderly retainer stammered, "W-what? Oh." Processing Lyonel's question, he pointed to one of the barrels, "That one. Just turn the tap and it should start pouring. Everyone just leave their mugs right next to the barrels, so unless you've a problem with hygiene, you could take one of those… your grace."

Lyonel nodded curtly in gratitude before simply opening the tap and washing away the ink. Thankfully, most of it hadn't dried yet so only few spots on his hand were slightly darker than the rest.

Shaking the water from his hands, he proceeded to make his way to the main tent. He had nothing else to do but wait.

He still couldn't shake that stranger from his mind. So many questions rang through his mind. That man wasn't human. He was invisible to others but him. Perhaps the old gods sent him as their messenger.

But if that was the case, why did the man reveal that he was Lyonel's enemy?

' _Seems the old gods are testing me. Perhaps they wish to find out if I am worthy._ '

He knew that the next time he met the stranger, neither would walk away unscathed.

* * *

 **A/N: What did you guys think? I'd love to hear your speculations on this chapter and yes, I know most of this chapter was Arya talking to her mother, but I felt that Arya really needed a lot of guidance considering she's a tomboy and hotheaded. She's never truly felt this kind of thing for anyone before so I'd imagine she would be very confused.**

 **Onto the reviews:**

 **Ninazu: I do intend for him to get a weapon for himself. When and where that _might_ happen will be explained after I'm done responding to the reviews.**

 **metaphysical god of heroes: Oh... You meant Hardass. I couldn't tell because you forgot to put the 'd' in hardass... hehehehe. Get it... D in hardass..? No..? I'll just shut up now...**

 **OMAC001: A good idea. If I decide to do that, I'll make sure to credit you.**

 **snapsnap24131: I'm glad atleast SOMEONE appreciates my joke. *huffs and looks away from all other reviewers*.**

 **JaegerCryptic: I'm glad you're liking the story. Don't worry if Lyonel's smithing and archery skills seem unnecessary, they'll be even more useful soon enough. And you'll be glad to know I intend to finish this story. I use INTEND because I'm a paranoid idiot who thinks the most bizarre and dumbest shit will happen to him that will prevent him from completing his story.**

 **kornerbrandon: I appreciate the flattery, but let's not exaggerate. No one can measure up against Sass-Master Martin Freeman. But really, on a more serious note, I'm glad you enjoy the story. You might even get a snark off in the future. Just make sure to remind me every once in a while in case i forget.**

 **As for the rest: I appreciate your support. I'd love it if people could leave a review to either help me with my writing or simply for motivation.**

 **Now for the most important part: I'm thinking that in the future, once Lyonel is finished with the war and has cleaned up afterwards, he would sail to Essos with Arya at his side and the two could become like a pair of adventurers who go around all of Essos and help the people. Sort of like Sam and Dean Winchester going around and solving shit. Of course, most of it will be normal, but I intend to include some supernatural things. Atleast what we people from earth would consider supernatural, but not for those in the world of Ice and Fire. And I also want to be able to add things to cultures we barely know about in A Song of Ice and Fire, kind of like I did with Volantis by adding the Saber-toothed Tiger as a mythical creature.**

 **I already have ideas for Arcs and a reason as to why they would go their other than the obvious motive of wanting to go out into the world and explore. I don't want anyone to think this will be unneccesary. There'll be character development and shit like that. But I will have to improve my writing in the sense that I need to be better at describing places so that when you read, it doesn't feel like they're just going places and talking to people. I wanna be able to put an image of the locations in your head. Because right now, I'm fucking atrocious at it.**

 **No seriously, I could have a beautiful location thought out in my head and what do I write? "There was a tree."**

 **So if anyone wants to become the Achilles to my Connor, I'd love to be able to learn how to describe locations better. So if anyone is very good at it, I'd love some advice.**

 **Anyways, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter. Personally, I feel like many stories have the characters simply staying in Westeros and I find that boring. So I'm almost a 100 percent sure I'm going to do this, but I'd still love to hear what you guys think.**

 **But anyways, that's about it. Sorry for making you think this chapter is longer because of the author's note... again. But I hope you liked this chapter.**


	11. Conflict

**A/N: Well, would you look at that? It didn't take four months for me to update this time.**

 **Like the previous chapter, this one is uneventful, although not as much as the last one. So don't get your hopes up. This chapter and the one before are going pretty slowly plot-wise. But in the next chapter, I'll move forward at a more normal pace.**

 **In this chapter, I wanted to write a bit about Garrett's background and his relation with Lyonel. The chapter is also a bit shorter than the rest, but that's so I can continue with the rewrite on one of my other stories. Also, I decided to add a bit of conflict between Lyonel and Arya in this chapter. How big of a conflict, you might wonder.**

 **Well, you're just going to have to read to find out! *Cue evil and echoing laughter***

 **But that's all I wanted to say for now.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Lyonel parted the tent flaps and entered the war-tent, revealing a large table with an equally large map of Westeros covering its surface. The northern lords surrounded it. Small Cyvasse pieces were spread over it, carved specifically for them. Some represented Stark wolves, others the Bolton's flayed men among other sigils of the northern houses. In their midst was a rearing Baratheon stag to represent Lyonel. Others represented the Lannister lion and other houses of The West, the only exception being the Clegane dogs for obvious reasons.

The lords, including Robb, turned to look at who entered their tent. Once they realized it was Lyonel, they all said, "My king!" in unison.

Lyonel nodded, his voice turning serious as his gentle frown returned, "My lords." His eyes caught Lady Catelyn's and that of an old woman's. She looked tough and her expression firm, yet her age was evident. Maege Mormont, Lyonel presumed, "My ladies." Jon stood in the corner of the tent like a common guard. Lyonel noticed and nodded his head slightly and Jon returned one of his own before making his way to the prince's side.

Robb walked around the table to greet him, "Your grace. We would think it wise to send one of our prisoners, a Lannister, to deliver our terms of their surrender."

Lyonel's brows furrowed, "I was told he was an emissary."

"The page I sent you must have heard wrong. But it doesn't matter, he'll be one soon enough." He nodded wordlessly in response. "Do you wish to deal with him before we begin the meeting?"

Lyonel nodded once more. He wouldn't risk the Lannister hearing them talk. They might as well send him off before they begin. Robb gave one of his own in understanding before looking behind him and nodding to one of his men. He did so to another and motioned for him to bring Lyonel a seat. As the guard made his way to the other end of the table, the prince held his hand out to halt him, his voice firm, "No."

He stopped abruptly, "Your grace?"

Robb looked confused, "Would it not be better if you sat down, your grace?"

Lyonel turned to face all of the lords, "If you stand, I stand."

The majority of the lords did not attempt to hide how pleased they were at his words as they smiled and nodded. Some hid it and simply smirked. All except Roose Bolton whose eerie calmness went unnoticed by all but Lyonel. He turned to face Robb before motioning his head towards the table and they both made their way to it. Lyonel turned around to face the entrance, leaning against the table, waiting for the prisoner to arrive.

It didn't take too long. Lyonel couldn't say he recognized him. He couldn't even remember hearing his name. As soon as their eyes met, the Lannister seemed imposed, his eyes widening slightly.

"Alton Lannister?"

He nodded, "Yes, my prince."

Maege Mormont stepped forward. "That's 'your grace' to you, Lannister."

"Forgive me… your grace."

"Never mind the formalities," Lyonel said. "You will go to King's Landing and give these terms to Joffrey Waters." Chuckles were heard behind him. "First, Sansa Stark is to be released without so much as a scratch. Along with Jeyne Poole."

Alton looked nervous, "If I may, your grace."

Lyonel stared before nodding, "You may."

"I… I don't know King Joffrey but from what I've heard… I doubt she will be unscathed."

Both Robb and Jon were angered, yet both restrained themselves from showing it.

Silence lingered as the prince's eyes stared blankly and unnervingly into the Lannister's own. "…I know."

"P-pardon, your grace? Then why would you request-"

"So that I may have an excuse to harm Joffrey more than necessary."

This pleased many present, which they made clear as they gave a small cheer. To Lyonel's hidden surprise, some even announced a name he hadn't even heard of before, "Blacklyon!"

He ignored it as he continued to stare calmly at Alton. "Second, all those of the Stark household murdered will have their remains returned to their families for proper burial."

"An honora-"

"Third. Joffrey will step down from the throne and renounce all false claims to it. He will be given to Lord Paramount Robb Stark as a prisoner for him to do as he likes."

Silence dawned over the tent as everyone found themselves shocked. Robb stared at him with wide eyes, stunned.

"Dowager Queen Cersei Lannister will face trial in court for the crime of incest and adultery. The same goes for Ser Jaime Lannister who will also face charges of incest and violation of the Kingsguard's oath."

Alton stuttered, "I-I, y-your gra-"

"Fourth, and final. Lord Paramount Tywin Lannister will renounce all claims and lordships. He will step down from Lord Paramountcy and abdicate all of his titles to his heir Tyrion Lannister, be disinherited so he may not regain the lordship in any way, be excommunicated from The Seven and exiled with all belongings taken from him. He will sail across the sea or beyond The Wall, and he will choose where with nothing but beggar's clothes, stale bread, warm water and a mule for transport."

The northerners all laughed, The Greatjon's laughter being the loudest. Lyonel silenced them as he continued, "He will never set foot in my land or the lands of my followers ever again."

Once again, the northerner's hailed, "Blacklyon!"

Alton stared, stunned and surprised, "Y-your grace, these requests are-"

"They are not requests!" Lyonel stated loudly, his frown deepening. He stood straight from the table and slowly strode towards him, "Joffrey has tortured innocents for his amusements and has now murdered a Lord Paramount, Eddard Stark no less, unjustly! Not only that, he has usurped a throne that does not belong to him! Cersei has lied, manipulated, seduced and murdered for her own gain! That old bastard Tywin has had innocent farmers murdered and raped by his attack dogs while suffering no consequence! If you think I'm _requesting_ that they give everything up, I'd suggest you rethink. I was stating facts. This is what _will_ happen. If they refuse, I'll have an excuse to humiliate them before their defeat."

Lyonel now stood in front of the Lannister, imposing with his body's frame and the frown from his face. He glared for a while before addressing one of the northerner guards, "Send him on his way. Give him water and food for the road. And a blade for him to defend himself with against brigands."

The guard nodded before guiding the intimidated Lannister away. Lyonel's glare remained until he was out of sight before turning to the table. The northerners all stood in their places around the large table. Without wasting a second, he placed both of his hands on the table and asked, "Situation?"

Robb began, "As you may have heard, your uncle Lord Stannis of Dragonstone has declared openly for you, your grace. And he has sent letters to all lords of the Stormlands, encouraging them to do the same."

"Have they?"

"I fear there has been no response yet. No doubt your uncle Renly is planning something, although I doubt he plots to take your throne." He suddenly realized he was speaking of Lyonel's uncle, "I mean no offense when I say this, of course. I simply think we should prepare for any form of deceit from anyone."

Lyonel slowly shook his head, "No offence taken. I'm impressed. I thought I was one of the few who knew Renly was plotting something. You are observant."

The Young Wolf couldn't help the proud smirk creeping up on his lips, "I simply have experienced the deceit of someone who's lived in King's Landing."

Lyonel knew he spoke of Baelish's betrayal of his father. "…I as well."

Roose Bolton requested permission to speak as he said, "Your grace?"

Lyonel nodded before announcing to everyone, "If anyone wishes to speak, do so. But be respectful and don't interrupt your fellow lords… or ladies."

They nodded, and Bolton started, "What do you suspect they plot?"

The prince's gaze fell over the stag piece on the map, placed on the Stormlands. "I am not sure yet."

Jon spoke beside Lyonel, "Your grace. Perhaps you should send someone to the Stormlands as an emissary."

Lady Catelyn's tongue dripped with resentment as she spoke, "You dare suggest he send you?" Before Jon had a chance to respond, she continued, "Sending a bastard would be seen as an insult… and for good reason."

Lyonel's expression turned neutral slowly as his eyes wandered up to stare at her, "Did he say I should send _him_?" The moment she opened her mouth, he interrupted, "No, he did not. He gave an advice. I'd suggest you do the same instead of insulting a loyal subject of mine."

Catelyn glared towards Jon before turning her gaze to Lyonel and nodding, her eyes relaxing, "Of course, your grace."

Jon had a thankful expression that the prince missed. Lady Maege inquired, catching his gaze and attention, "Who do you intend to be the emissary?"

He stared at the map before picking up the piece representing him and inspecting it as he held it between his fingers, "Who better to negotiate with a Baratheon than a Baratheon?"

Robb sounded surprised, "Your grace, you would leave so soon? We could use the guidance of our liege. We take orders from you."

He shook his head as he placed the wooden stag down, "You have no need of me, Lord Stark." Robb stopped himself from flinching. That was always his father's title. "You have proven yourself in battle. You are no longer a child, you are a grown man. I trust you will take care of the Lannisters while I'm gone. I have faith in you."

A smile appeared on his face as he bowed his head, "My thanks to you, your grace."

Lyonel nodded, "Along the road, I'll go to Dragonstone and order my uncle to come with us to the negotiations. The North also needs a representative so that my uncle Renly knows who stands beside me."

"I should go." Everyone's eyes turned to Lady Stark. "No offence, my lords. You are skilled warriors, and abysmal diplomats. With few exceptions. You will all be of better use here, fighting."

The prince stared at her, "You make a sound argument. So be it." He turned his gaze back to the map, "Now… Where are we on the military aspect?"

 **An Hour Later**

"You are dismissed," he announced. The lords began to leave. Lyonel suddenly spoke, still staring down at the map, "Not you, Lady Stark."

She turned towards him in surprise before nodding. Once everyone had left, Lyonel finally removed his hands from the table and faced her, Jon beside him. "What is your problem, exactly?" He asked calmly.

Catelyn looked taken aback, "Your grace?"

"Let me make this clear right now. I know that you hate the fact that Lord Eddard loved someone other than you."

Her eyes widened, as did Jon's, in surprise and shock.

"But do you know what? The world does not revolve around you. Yes, Eddard loved someone else. Yes, he bedded her because he _loved_ her. Yes, he brought home their bastard, but he did not do so to punish you and remind you of his infidelity. He did it so that his son may be raised by his father, and the son did. But he was raised hated by you. Simply because you couldn't see who you truly should have hated. You decided to forgive the sins of the father but hate the virtue of the innocent baby boy. Simply because of your envy and refusal to accept that Eddard could love someone other than you."

His eerie calmness reminded Jon of The Leech Lord.

Catelyn glared at Lyonel, furious, "Do you think yourself some open-minded paragon? An accepting leader? Don't pretend as if you care for Jon. I know what kind of man you are." Jon stood wide-eyed at Lyonel's speech and Catelyn's bold words.

"Make no mistake. I don't care for Jon because he is a bastard and because I want to show how different and accepting I am. I may be open-minded, but I am far from open-handed!" He began raising his voice. "You had best remember that because I will not allow your envious and selfish nature to undermine Jon's attempt at rational advice! We are at war, Lady Stark, and your envy is something I will not allow to show during meetings! Not while it could jeopardize the lives of our men, if not an entire battle!"

Catelyn stared, jaw tense and eyes glaring. She suddenly nodded, wise enough to not argue, "As you wish, your grace. May I leave?"

Lyonel nodded and watched as she left. Once she did, he turned around and looked at the wide-eyed bastard. "Arya's not going to be happy once she hears what you told her mother… Thank you, Lyonel."

He leaned against the table with his arms crossed again and nodded, muttering quietly, his mind somewhere else, "Think nothing of it."

Jon looked like he wanted to ask something before suddenly saying, "You said that you didn't care for me because you wanted to show how open-minded you are. Why do you care for me? Why do you care about people insulting me for being a bastard?"

Lyonel stared at the ground in front of him. He remained silent for a while before his eyes flicked to Jon's, "Because of Arya."

"No," Jon stated as if it was a fact.

"No?"

"The way you got angry at her, the emotions. Maybe you care for me because of Arya, but you don't care if people call me a bastard because of her. I know who you are Lyonel. I have no illusions. You're not normal, you're not a compassionate person."

Lyonel stared at him, indifferent. He knew Jon meant no offence. He was simply stating facts. "Your point?"

"My point is that you had other motives."

His eyes lingered on his bodyguard before staring in front of him again. After a while, he finally spoke once more, "I had figured out something quite a while ago."

"What?"

"I know why the stigma of bastardy exists. Why the word itself even exists."

Jon's eyes widened in surprise. "You do?" He nodded. "Why, then?"

He sighed quietly to himself. "Because adults refuse to take responsibility for their actions. They simply didn't want to be held responsible for their infidelity. So one day they decided to gather around a table and create the term 'bastard'. And then they decided to slap that name on the spawn of their infidelity, of their crime of passion. So then people would blame everything on the child, every single mistake by the father would be placed on the child… A perfect catspaw. And you know something?" he asked as he turned to look at Jon. "People fell for it…"

Jon looked at him in surprise. Lyonel somehow figured it out when Jon himself didn't. And he was a bastard himself. "Why did you even think on the matter?"

Lyonel looked away once again, "Because Tywin treated Uncle Tyrion like a monster, a bastard. I was a child when I first saw how he treated his own son. I remember being so confused. I kept asking myself 'How can fathers even hate their sons, bastard or not? Especially someone as amazing as Uncle Tyrion?' Admittedly, the question was quite naïve as everyone is their own person and individual. But in my eyes, every son was like Uncle Tyrion. And Uncle Tyrion was my hero- _is_ my hero."

Jon stared silently before speaking, "It doesn't change that it's still a good question."

The prince turned his head to meet his eyes, his face calm, "I appreciate your words."

"And I, yours." Lyonel looked at him in surprise as Jon continued, "I'd be lying if I never thought that you were pretentious and had the illusion that you understood how it felt to be a bastard on one occasion. It seems you're more understanding than I thought."

Lyonel looked indifferent, "I suppose we have more common things in our lives than either of us thought when we first met."

"What do you mean?"

"We both grew up with a father, or in my case, a father figure. Yet the position of mother figure was vacant for the both of us."

Jon had to stop the frown from his face, yet could not keep the anger out of his voice, "But you had a mother."

"By blood, yes. And who abused me, no less." He stared forward, "I can't decide which is worse. Growing up without a mother or growing up with one who beat you every time you gave them an excuse."

Jon's anger dissipated, quickly realizing how much harder Lyonel must have had it.

Lyonel continued. "But understanding? No." He never knew what it was like growing up hated and shunned by everyone around you. Well, he did know what it was like to be shunned out of fear. But to be ridiculed and sometimes even humiliated out of pure hatred? For simply being born? Never. At least Lyonel was shunned for his actions and not his birth. Even then, it was not out of hate. "I simply have the common sense to see things the way they are." He paused before smirking, "Although, the more I think about it, the less common it seems."

Jon suddenly laughed at his words, while Lyonel himself shook his head in amusement at Jon's reaction.

Once his laughter died down, Jon breathed calmly before asking, "So the only reason you care for bastards is because of your uncle?"

Lyonel's gentle frown returned once more, "I don't care for bastards."

"But you said-"

"That they are equal, yes. That means I care as little about them as everyone else. Not more, not less."

Jon smiled, unable to help his amusement. Lyonel had a way of being amusing in a dry way where he doesn't even realize it himself. Perhaps it was only Jon who found him amusing. Regardless, he once again looked as if he wanted to ask something.

' _Has he not already asked what he wanted to? Or is there something else?_ '

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Lyonel stared at him quietly.

"Why didn't you tell me you killed my attackers back in King's Landing?"

The prince stared. ' _Myrcella,'_ he realized. "Because your honour would have made you feel responsible in some way. You would have wanted them arrested and to face a trial. If I told you, you would have felt guilt. That is the foolishness of honour."

Jon stared. There was no point in getting angry. It was already done. Besides, he had no right to be angry. No one had truly killed for him before. Even if Lyonel did it simply because he was Arya's brother.

Lyonel looked confused suddenly as he once again looked up from the ground, "Black Lion?"

"Hmm?"

"The lords. They kept saying Black Lion."

Jon's eyes widened in realization, "Oh… Remember what you told Lord Umber when you said he was mistaken, just not in the way he thought?"

"That I was a Lion of Baratheon, yes. Why?"

Jon stared, "Well… You know how most lords' skill are in strategy rather in personal combat?" He nodded in response. "Well, the only exceptional combatant in a great house is Brynden Blackfish considering his skills with both a blade and bow. So The Greatjon decided to name you Blacklyon. Also since black is the colour of the Baratheon Stag."

Lyonel stared at the ground with furrowed brows before looking back at Jon, "Because I, what, beat two normal men-at-arms in hand to hand? And don't I already have a title?"

"Your father had more than one. They called him _Demon of The Trident_ and…" He hesitated to say it.

Lyonel instantly continued, "-The Whoremonger King."

"Yes… It was also the way you defeated the men-at-arms. The fighting style was foreign and surprisingly effective. The Greatjon suspects you know more about personal combat than meets the eye. Just like Blackfish."

"Hmph. Someone should tell him to prepare for the disappointment of a lifetime."

Jon chuckled shortly, "Still, the name is rather creative, don't you think?"

"Why? He literally took 'Blackfish' and replaced _fish_ with _lion_."

He shook his head, "The creativity is in how it is spelt. It's spelt the same way as your name. With a 'y'."

Lyonel nodded slowly, "I see. Perhaps I should get my own banner now," he said sarcastically. Although truthfully, he liked the name. It had a nice ring to it.

"Not a bad idea."

He simply stared at his sworn shield, "…I was joking."

" _I_ wasn't. It _is_ a good idea."

Lyonel stayed quiet for a few seconds before he said, "Maybe. Although I'd still rather earn the title of _Blacklyon_ the way Blackfish earned his. In any case, a new banner and title was not the subject I desired to speak of to you. How did it go with my sister?"

Jon could not help the corners of his lips twitch upwards into a smile, "…Good. I think our… relationship has gotten better. Much better."

"I'm glad. Make sure to spend the rest of your time with her, and Robb, if you wish to come with me to the Stormlands. You won't be able to be with them for a while." He nodded. Lyonel walked away from the table. Before either of them could to anything, a white blur ran towards the prince and stopped in front of him.

Lyonel smiled widely as Ghost placed his paws on his shoulders and licked his face. Jon laughed at the sight of the prince futilely attempting to evade the direwolf's tongue. After a few seconds, Lyonel finally lifted Ghost's paws from him gently, "Alright, I missed you too, calm down."

Ghost stared at him, tongue wagging yet as silent as his owner.

"He's grown," Lyonel stated.

Jon agreed with a nod, "Indeed. He's already reached past my waist."

The prince sighed, "I should go to my tent and order the men to build a fort around it."

"Why is that?"

"Like you said. Arya's going to want my head once she hears what I told her mother."

"Oh… I'd hurry up then if I were you."

Lyonel mumbled as he walked past Jon, "Be thankful you're not."

Jon stared after the prince as he left before muttering silently to himself, "Oh, I am thankful, alright." He turned to look at Ghost staring at him silently, "What kind of flower do you think we should place on his tombstone?"

* * *

 **Garrett**

Garrett was sitting next to Rakharo's lying form in the tent where they kept their wounded. It was night, and they decided to stop and rest. Lyarra sat in front of him, conversing.

As she spoke, he couldn't help but remember when he first met her. After being saved from something that would no doubt scar her for life, he took them to the Khal.

He also remembered how terrified he was. But he saw it as a good thing. He knew now that he wasn't a complete idiot.

 **Flashback**

" _Son of Penrose,_ " the Khal greeted as he sat down. Garrett walked to him, the women behind him." _Mago here says you have taken his prize and slain his brothers. Is this true?_ "

He nodded firmly, " _It is._ "

He stared at him, confusion and slight disappointment in his eyes, " _Why have you done this? I loved you like as a brother after you saved my sun and stars and demanded no reward afterwards. Why would you defy me now? What have I done to deserve this contempt from you?_ "

" _Because this…_ " He said as he motioned around them, the burned huts and temples, and the pile of heads next to him. " _…is not something I can follow. This goes against everything I believe in. If I allowed you to do this while standing by, I would not only betray myself. I would betray everything my entire bloodline stands for. I would dishonour everyone's memory of me. If you truly mean it when you call me brother, then you will understand why I am doing this and will not hold this against me._ "

Khal Drogo stared at him before nodding slowly, " _As a friend, I cannot ask you to go against the things you believe in. But if you consider_ _ **me**_ _a friend, then you must understand why_ _ **I**_ _do this. These men have spilled blood for me. I cannot leave their loyalty unrewarded. This is the way of war. These women are now slaves, and they shall be mounted as they were made for. And the children will work until they die of old age._ "

" _Then have them take these girls as wives._ " Garrett exclaimed suddenly. Drogo looked slightly surprised and thoughtful." _I can accept that, as long as they mount them gently. Your men will receive their rewards, the slaves will be spared from a worse fate and I can stand with you once more._ "

The Dothraki next to the Khal spat at Garrett's feet, " _Soft-hearted summer boy. Perhaps now you will kneel and weep like a woman, begging for us to spare them?_ "

Daenerys stepped forward, " _If not for Garrett, then do this for me, my love. Just as he said, have them take the women as wives._ "

Mago sneered, " _The Khal does not take requests from foreign bitches such as the two of you!_ " He turned to his leader, pointing his Arakh towards Garrett, " _If you take orders from them, then you are no Khal of mine! I will have my spoils whenever I want them, however I want them! For I have earned them!_ "

Drogo slowly stared at Mago before standing up, and opened his mouth to speak. But before he could say anything, Mago's eyes widened as a knife protruded from his forehead. Garrett growled into his ear, " _You will never refer to Daenerys as 'bitch' ever again!_ " He knew Mago was already dead, but he simply wanted to make a point. He pulled out the blade before letting his corpse fall to the ground before spitting on it.

Drogo stared at him before chuckling. " _As you wish, brother. My men will take the lambwomen as wives._ " He turned to announce to everyone, " _There will be no argument!_ " He looked back at Garrett, " _Help yourself to one of them if you wish it. It seems one of them already has an eye for you,_ " he said while motioning behind him with a smirk.

He had a look of confusion on his face before turning back and seeing the violet eyed woman, staring at him. The Khal ordered his men to move out when the woman finally decided to make his way over to him.

She surprised Garrett when she spoke, "I would rather you take me than any of these other savages."

His eyes widened, "You speak Westerosi?" She nodded before looking at the ground shyly. His eyes lingered on her in perplexion. How could she have learned his language? Who was she? He spared those thoughts for later as he said, "I will claim you as mine if that is what it takes for the others to stay away from you. But I will not take you if you truly do not wish it."

She looked up at him in surprise, "I… Truly?" He nodded. "Thank you…"

"Of course. The name's Garrett. Yours?"

"…Lyarra."

He held out his hand, "Well then, Lyarra. A pleasure." She smiled in return before accepting his hand and shaking it.

 **Flashback End**

Garrett was shaken out of his reminiscing when she suddenly stopped as she realized someone was standing behind him. Garrett's confused face turned to look at where she was staring and saw Daenerys standing there. He stood on his feet before bowing his head slightly, "Khaleesi."

"Ser Garrett," She politely returned. Turning to look at the Maegi apprentice, Dany had a hesitant yet apologetic look on her face, "I… came here to apologize."

She frowned, "What for?"

"I accused you of things I should not have. I now realize my mistake and wish to be pardoned."

Lyarra stared at her for a while, face unreadable. She suddenly nodded, "I cannot blame you, not after what Mirri Maz Duur did to your late husband."

Dany couldn't help the smile on her face. Despite how she had been treating the poor girl, she still found it in her heart to not only forgive her, but to be able not to blame Dany for her suspicion. "I'm glad you understand. Rakharo is close to me, I did not wish to take any chances."

Lyarra finally smiled, "Like I said. I cannot blame you. I suppose I was angry at you as well for what happened to my village. But I realize now that it was your husband. Not you. I suppose I should be grateful you were there to protect us when we were brought before the Khal."

Garrett had been watching the two with a smile on his face. And decided to join in on the conversation, "'Oh well, thank you too, Garrett.' Don't mention it, Lyarra."

The two women laughed at him and his successful attempt at humour. "Yes, yes. Don't get a big head, I returned the favour when I saved your friend here."

Garrett welcomed Daenerys to join them as they all sat down. Garrett had been conversing with the Lhazar for a while now. He had learned that she was born in Westeros, which explained why she could speak it. But her father had brought her here after the apparent death of her mother when she was but a babe. 'Apparent' being the imperative word since she didn't _know_ that she had died. She only assumed that to be the case since her father had barely spoke of her to him.

"What about you?" She asked.

He looked at her in slight surprise, "Me?"

Lyarra nodded, "You've barely spoken about your past. Other than the fact that you're from Storm's End. And that you're the nephew to 'Cortnay Penrose'."

Dany agreed, "Yes, I find myself curious, as well."

He sighed silently, his hands on his kneecaps, "Well, I grew up in the background of pretty much everything happening in Storm's End. Like my father, Edric Penrose, I was always in the shadow of my uncle's family, the castellan of Storm's End. My father always felt he had to prove himself to everyone to finally get the attention away from his big brother and to him. Make no mistake, he still loved uncle Cortnay, but he was always neglected for his older brother even when young. Despite that, he had a kind heart. And despite his ambitious goals, he was still a humble man."

Lyarra and Dany had soft smiles on their lips as they listened intently. "He sounds like an admirable man," the young Targaryen said.

He met her eyes, "He was. But he was also foolish. He didn't realize he was neglecting his own child the way he was neglected by his parents. He was so obsessed, always needing to prove something, an overachiever. He did not get wiser with age."

This time, Lyarra spoke. "I see… Forgive me if I am out of line with this question, but you said he _was_. Was that a slip of the tongue or has he truly passed?"

"He has passed, along with my mother."

Her eyes turned sympathetic, "Oh. I'm sorry."

"As am I. My father perished protecting Lord Renly Baratheon from a large band of brigands during a hunt. An axe to the chest, they told me. They also told me he returned the favour by cutting off the brigand's head before succumbing. He finally got the recognition he wanted when Lord Renly carved a small memorial out in the forest he died in. A small wooden statue representing the shield and sword my father died wielding. They buried him under of the memorial and planted many roses and other flowers around it. He would have wanted it."

He smiled reminiscently, "You two should have seen it. It looked _so_ beautiful. So colourful." He stared off before suddenly shaking himself out of his short musing. "My mother died of illness and was buried next to my father. Not that the heartbreak and grief of my father's death helped her. I grew up with my cousins after the age of nine. Grew neglected by all but Uncle Cortnay. He treated me as if I was his own son. Honestly, he and my mother were the only ones who actually gave me any attention."

"I spent all of my time training with anything sharp I could find to become the best Blademaster there was. But unlike my father, I refused to do it to impress some lord who wouldn't have spared me a second glance if I proved to be useless to them. I did it because if I found someone worthy of my loyalty, I would fight for them and I would do it well. I liked growing up in the shadows unlike father. It meant I spent less time socializing. Not to mention, being without any true ambition that would force you out of your comfortable situation is a very relaxing ideal in life."

She smiled, "I'm glad you didn't waste your time with such things. Did you ever find someone worthy of your loyalty? Other than her," she said as she motioned her head towards Daenerys.

He stared forward, a reminiscing smile on his face, "Yes. A friend of mine. I consider him more of a brother actually."

Dany suddenly cut in, "The friend you spoke of to me?"

He nodded, and Lyarra found herself curious. "What kind of person was he?"

"He is… the son of a Kingslander retainer. Quiet, but loyal. Admittedly, he was uncaring of strangers, coldly so. With a few exceptions. He could never watch a child get hurt. I never understood the motive for that, considering he was far from moral. A ruthless killer to his enemies, but a willing servant and protector to his loved ones. He simply seemed incapable of being selfish to his loved ones. No matter what, he always put his brother and sister first. He grew up abused by his parents. I suppose he wanted to be the opposite of the bad in them."

"He sounds… complex."

To their surprise, he laughed, "The funny thing though, is that for someone so complex, he has such a black and white view of things. From moral to social things. It's always been one of his weaknesses."

"He's shy?" Dany asked.

"No, but he's the opposite of a social butterfly. I like to think of him as a social… mole."

They both stared at him as if he said the dumbest thing they've ever heard before suddenly laughing. Lyarra spoke between giggles, "Mole!? That has… to be the most… idiotic and nonsensical comparison… I've ever heard of!"

"Not if you know my friend."

They calmed down, yet the smiles lingered, "Why would you compare him to a… social mole?"

His laughter started, "Because he's socially blind and naïve, bordering to absolute fucking imbecility!" They both laughed together, as Garrett spoke, "I'm not even jesting, he is honest to gods incredibly socially incompetent."

They all laughed again for a good while before calming down.

Garrett chuckled at a memory, "I remember after I first met him, we were walking the streets of Storm's End and we walked past a brothel. We saw a man flirting with one of the working girls and do you know what he says?"

"No," they said at the same time, shaking her head. They smirked at each other before turning to look at him again.

"He stared at them with a confused expression and I ask him what's wrong. He answers with a straight face, 'I never understood that part of the human mating ritual.'."

Dany stared at him with an incredulous look on her face, "Mating ritual?"

He chuckled again, shrugging, "He spoke as if he was a talking animal observing human behaviour."

She stared in disbelief before looking away while shaking her head, "Your friend is certainly… different."

"You don't say," Lyarra commented.

His smile fell, "He is. He was always so cold and detached from most things. Besides the humorous part of it, saying ' _human_ mating ritual'…" He drifted off for a while, his expression turning almost sad before continuing, "It's as if he doesn't consider himself human. He's been shunned by so many people for so long he doesn't even consider himself a normal human being."

They looked at him in surprise. "Shunned? Why so?" Lyarra inquired

He hesitated to say it, "He… Something happened. Something bad, a situation which never should have occurred. He was attacked and was forced to do defend himself."

"And he was shunned for trying to survive?"

"No!-" He stopped himself before continuing calmly, "It was the way he did it. He brutalized the attacker. The corpse was so mutilated that the face couldn't be recognized. I mean… the man's face was nothing more than red flesh, all the skin had been smashed off, for gods' sake."

Lyarra gasped, while Daenerys stared with wide eyes. "Truly? How could you be friends with someone like him?"

He frowned, "It wasn't his fault. He was shunned, the environment he grew up in made him that way."

"Except people shunned him for brutalizing the murderer," Dany argued.

He raised his voice, "The common people, yes, but not his parents!" They remained silent. He sighed as he rubbed his eyes, "I'm sorry, Khaleesi."

She shook her head, "No, it's alright. I admire your loyalty to him. You know him more than I do, so who am I to judge?"

He sighed again, "He grew up hated and abused by his parents. Hated by the people meant to raise him and love him."

Lyarra stared at his expression of hesitance, "There's something else."

"…Yes. Growing up abused is one thing. But I don't believe that it turns you into a ruthless killer."

"And you think something else has happened."

He looked at her in surprise at how she read him. "Yes." His gaze turned forward, his eyes thoughtful, "I believe something may have happened to him. Perhaps during such a young age that he can't remember. Or maybe he was simply born that way, but I doubt the latter is true."

"Why is that?"

"Because he's not heartless. He still cares. Even for strangers, as little as he may. If he was born that way, he would've been a heartless monster. But he has a kind nature. That nature almost never shows but it's still there, hidden underneath all of the layers of pain and misery. People born heartless don't have a kind nature."

Dany's eyes widened in realization at his words, "You believe he was moulded that way?"

"I do." His expression suddenly turned somber, "He was moulded into what he was. He was ruined, but by what, I don't know. But he was ruined. He was never his own person." He turned his head to see her confused expression. "His entire childhood was spent training to become strong so that he could protect the ones he loves. Mostly his siblings."

He slowly started frowning as his tone grew angrier, "Every second of his life was dedicated to someone else's. He never stopped to think what he himself wanted. He was so marred by what's happened to him that he never even thought of himself as a person who also has needs! He did not even consider himself human! Because that's how people treated him all his life, as someone without worth and humanity! Because of that, he began seeing himself that way too."

Both of the women were surprised by how passionate Garrett seemed about this friend of his. Either Garrett was extremely loyal, or the friend was a truly exceptional person. They had a feeling it was a little bit of both.

"Ever since I learned how he was, ever since I became his friend I've tried to make him realize that he himself is also a person. That he should be selfish every once in a while, that he deserves it. But every time has led to failure, because he's so filled with self-loathing, believing it's his own fault that he was abused, that he was a failure, just like his parents shouted at him whenever they beat him!"

"The man doesn't even realize he hates himself! He simply shrugs off my attempts to make him see himself as human and carries on with whatever he's doing, unaffected by it. He keeps insisting that he should help his family and dedicate himself and his time to them." He scoffed with a humourless smile on his face, "He doesn't even fucking realize he hates himself. He's so detached from his feelings of self-worth and pride, so detached from _himself_. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't know what those two words even meant."

He had a look of realization on his face as he repeated for the third time in disbelief, "He doesn't even realize he hates himself. He blames himself when he shouldn't and he tries to fix his loved ones' problems as if he was the one who caused them."

The two women stared at him, not knowing what to say. After a lengthy silence, Dany spoke, "He's a good man, deep down."

Garrett's look of disbelief was gone as he said in a dry voice, "He is, but he's also a fucking idiot."

Lyarra could not help the small laughter that escaped her lips and Daenerys couldn't resist the smile at hearing her laugh. "True friendship," Lyarra said sarcastically once she calmed down.

Garrett's smile disappeared as quickly as it came. "Well… there is one instance when he can't help but be selfish." They found their curiosity peaked.

"And what may that instance be?"

"Chocolate," he answered simply.

They both stared at him with wide eyes. A lengthy silence filled the tent until it was broken by the Maegi apprentice, "Chocolate?" He nodded curtly. Dany and Lyarra slowly turned to look each other in the eye, confused, before looking back at him. "I can't tell if that was a jape or not."

"It wasn't. Chocolate is one thing he refuses to share, even with his siblings. He rarely eats anything that isn't healthy, but on rare occasions, he indulges. And for some reason, he loves chocolate." A grin appeared on his face, "I remember the day I found out how much he truly loved chocolate."

The two women began listening intently.

 **Flashback**

Garrett walked through the halls of Storm's End, sweaty and exhausted from the prolific sword training session he just had. He finally met Prince Lyonel Baratheon, or as people were beginning to call him now, The Silent Storm. He personally thought it premature to give a boy of twelve such a title. What he gathered about the younger boy he'd just met was that he could tell that there was something… off. Not in a bad way necessarily. But he could tell the prince was not normal. He was as quiet as the rumours said. But unlike Garrett had initially thought, it wasn't an attempt to seem intimidating.

He just seemed… uninterested in a lot of things. He wasn't flippant. But rather, he seemed uncaring. Coldly so. Yet there was something familiar he noticed. Just like him, the prince attempted to stay out of conversations and interactions. It seems both of them preferred the shadows. It was their cover and their ally. One of the few things that comforted them in foreign situations. Good thing for the prince that he wasn't born first. Otherwise, he'd have to become king.

He was walking past the prince's temporary quarters when he was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of rasping steel. A sound he could only identify as a sword being unsheathed. Suddenly, yelling was coming from the room, "I'LL CUT OFF WHAT'S LEFT OF YOUR FUCKING BALLS IF YOU TOUCH IT, I SWEAR ON THE OLD GODS!"

Garrett jumped and quickly ran into the room to see what was happening, his hand on the hilt of his blade. He opened the doors to see that the prince was holding a short-sword, raised in the air and prepared to strike whatever he was currently furiously glaring at. Garrett suddenly noticed a cat sitting on the table next to a plate with a slice of chocolate cake on it, its paw almost touching it as it stared at Prince Lyonel.

Neither broke eye-contact with each other, nor did they move an inch, the tension thick in the air. Garrett looked between the two in disbelief.

 **End of Flashback**

When he was finished telling the small story, the two women seemed to have lost their minds. They both covered their mouths with their hands as they laughed and giggled uncontrollably. Garrett had to stop himself from laughing as well at seeing their reactions. Soon, Rakharo began to stir into consciousness. He groaned in annoyance at the sound.

" _What is that sound?_ "

Everyone looked at him in surprise and relief. Garrett immediately kneeled next to him, relief evident on his face. He almost laughed with joy, " _Relax, Rakharo. You are not to move yet. The Salamander's Bloom may have side effects. You must wait until tomorrow so that we can make sure you haven't been affected by such a thing. You have the Lhazar to thank for your survival. She was the only one here with any sort of medicinal training_."

He nodded before looking at Lyarra. " _Do not think I will accept what you are Maegi… But I am still grateful to you for saving my life._ "

"What did he say?"

"He gives you his gratitude for saving his life." She smiled at Rakharo and nodded, surprising the dothraki slightly as she didn't seem offended. But of course, he didn't know Garrett left that part out.

" _What were you all laughing at?_ "

Garrett glanced at the two women in amusement, "He asked what we were laughing at."

Lyarra smirked, "Tell him. I'd love to see his reaction."

* * *

 **Lyonel**

It was finally night and darkness had descended upon the entire camp. Lyonel had planned to speak to Theon Greyjoy before he journeyed to his father in an attempt to gain an alliance between them and the Ironborn. Yet now his plan was halted as he had to expect Arya's presence.

"…And I want you two guarding the entrance to this tent," he commanded the two guards in front of him. They nodded before turning to leave the tent. They were both surprised to see the little spitfire that their liege warned them about in front of them with a glare. They turned to look at the prince, unsure what to do.

He conceded, accepting his fate. "Alright, well at this point you might as well just save yourselves, go," he said as he motioned his head to the tent flaps. They nodded, thankful, before walking past Arya who seemed to be trying to glare holes into Lyonel's skull. Once the guards were absent, he sat down on the chair facing her.

"What is wrong with you!?" she shouted finally. He could see the anger and disappointment in her eyes. Yet he did not realize how deep that disappointment truly went. Nor did he know her true feelings. "How could you say that to her!? Did she not welcome you and treat you with respect when you were our guest?!"

Just when she found out she was falling for him, he goes ahead and does something like this. He had to go and treat her mother the way he did and make her doubt herself and even make her feel guilty for siding with one instead of the other. She knew that he wasn't perfect, far from it. But he was perfect in _her_ eyes, in every way that it mattered to _her_. And that was good enough. But then he ruined it by doing this.

"That does not excuse her from what she says."

She stomped forward, "Well, it should mean _something_! You act as if she didn't mean anything to you! I accepted how ruthless you were towards others, and even expected it, but I just can't understand how cold you are to those who have done nothing but show respect!"

He soon began to lose his patience, "So you accept that she treats Jon like dirt!?"

She shook her head, almost laughing, "Oh no! You don't get to use Jon as an excuse for this! The way you treated my mother was nothing short of complete disrespect! And don't pretend as if you did it for Jon! Sure, you killed Lannisters for him, but you even admitted that it wasn't because you cared for him personally!"

"I did it for Myrcella and-"

"-Me, yes! But I'm beginning to doubt that you spoke the entire truth! You simply wanted an excuse, didn't you? You wanted to hurt your mother because of what she did to you!"

"No, because of what she did to my SIBLINGS!" Arya stood firm, unfazed by his yell. "I have long since given up on myself! It was always about them!"

"Oh well aren't you the most selfless and pure-hearted knight out there!?"

He stopped himself from growling, "Has she not tormented your brother for being born!?"

"I told you, don't use Jon as an excuse!"

He chuckled humourlessly as he stood up, "One thing I never understood is how you could allow her to do so. If my mother had tormented Tommen personally, I would have beaten her blue and purple until she left him alone!"

"Well, pardon me for not being as hateful of my mother as you are to your-"

"-How could you allow the one person who understood you unlike any other to be treated like nothing? How could you abandon him?" Lyonel knew exactly what to say, how to manipulate her feelings against her. It was easier than it would be to manipulate other people as Arya felt emotions very deeply. Ironically, that was one of the things he always admired about her. Since it was one thing he couldn't do. But this time, he had to use it for his selfish advantage.

She finally snapped as she attempted to shove him, managing to only make him take a step back. He could see the shame in her eyes.

And somehow, it made him feel guilty.

Guilt. A feeling that was foreign to him. He was used to utilizing this type of guile before. But for the first time in his life, he felt regret at doing so.

Why?

He already wanted to take it back. But it was too late. "You think I don't know that!? Do you think I don't feel like… like _shit_!? Every time she lashed out at Jon, looking at him with hatred and disgust in her eyes as she insulted him and humiliated him, I felt like I should have done something but I _knew_ I couldn't! It would have been hard enough even as her child, but as a _girl_!?"

Her features softened slightly, "I may be stubborn, and I know that. But even I know my limits. And one of those limits is harming my mother's love for me for nothing! I know that I may be stubborn and refuse to accept that I'm not allowed to do certain things. Because I always believed that if I willed it hard enough, it would become true in some way. And I was right because you came along and gave me that freedom. And don't think I'll ever forget that."

She suddenly started frowning again, "But one thing I can't will into changing is someone's feelings, no matter how much I want it!" ' _Just like I can't will myself to hate you right now instead of feeling the guilt of going against you._ '

"And you have to understand that! Speaking against my mother would have done nothing but ruin what we had! And it would have been for nothing! I wanted to speak up against her, but Jon realized what would happen! He knew! He told me to just let it go, so I did."

"And I thought you were supposed to be wilful. You should have said something! Not stand by!"

"WELL I COULDN'T!" She finally shouted at him. "I'm sorry but not everyone's mother is like yours!"

He hid a grimace and slowly began walking to her, "Your mother is selfish. And she is spiteful. You may have been living in wilful ignorance, but I see things for what they are, just as I always have! And it's time you to open your eyes, and begin seeing her for what she _is_! It seems I know your mother better than you do."

That was what sent her over the edge.

Now, Arya didn't know what happened. Anger might have possessed her, or maybe her inner wolf's instinct for protecting its pack crept up in her hand. But either way, it happened before she realized it. She didn't even pull her hand back. Her palm simply sailed towards Lyonel's cheek and connected with a loud _Smack!_ His head snapped to the side as he stood completely still, shocked into silence. Yet he didn't make a sound.

As silent as always.

Her fury was unlike any other he had ever seen before, "Would _you_ have been able to accept that!? Could you suddenly accept one day that the woman who raised you and loved you with all her heart was a spiteful and envious monster!?"

She panted, her torso heaving and her throat sore from the shouting. She was unnerved with unwilling concern when he simply stood there, no reaction whatsoever, his head looking to the side. He was dead-like. She felt small relief when his hand slowly began to move to his now-reddened cheek. He very slowly turned his head to look at the hand in front of him. "I accepted that my mother was a monster…" He lowered his hand as his eyes locked gazes with hers. And to her absolute heartbreak, she could see the pure pain in them. "…the day she struck me for speaking the ugly truth about someone she loved."

Her eyes widened slowly in shock and realization at the true impact behind her actions. She was no better than that bitch who abused Lyonel because he told her his brother was a monster. The bitch who struck him and hated him when she should have loved him. Regret and guilt settled in her chest as she looked at the ground in shame. Her voice trembled, "Gods…" She met his eyes "…Lyonel… I'm so… so sorry. I-I didn't… I didn't mean to do tha-"

"Leave," He commanded with an unfeeling voice. It felt as if she was struck in the face herself at hearing the tone in his voice. He looked away and sat down in the chair facing the table. He stared at the empty space in front of him before closing his eyes with an almost mournful look.

What had she done?

Her heart bled when he said in an almost whispering and pleading voice, "Please."

She opened her mouth. She wanted to plead, to bargain and to embrace him, desperately begging for his forgiveness, to strike him and yell at him once more for pushing her into doing something like that. But the shame was too much for her to do anything as regretful tears began welling in her eyes. She looked at him once more, and wanted to hold him in comfort at seeing the hurt in his expression. But she didn't dare. She quickly turned around before almost running out of his tent, not wanting him to see the tears of shame and regret that was now pouring from her eyes like a waterfall of sorrow.

She walked past several soldiers, none noticing her tears thanks to the pitch blackness of the sky. She barely spotted her tent and made her way there. As soon as she arrived at her bed, she fell onto it and cried into her pillow, muffling her sobs. She heard Nymeria's whimper, but ignored it. She cried and cried until she finally fell asleep and dreamed of her father.

Lyonel had no sleep that night. He had no company except for the memories of his mother's beatings and abuses and the maddening voices that loath-fully insulted him with hateful words. His mind falling deeper into darkness.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As I said, this one is shorter, but I'm not even sure if you guys noticed. Not much to say so let's get to the reviews:**

 **clove25: Ah-HA. Seems my awesome humour is getting the recognition it deserves! Glad you like the story.**

 **AtinyOceane: Why thank you. I try to make every pairing matter in the story so it's not just some random background pairing.**

 **The Communist Banana: I can tell you're not a fan of the romance aspect of stories and I have absolutely no problem with that. Hey, each to their own, right? But in case you didn't notice, this story is under the genre of Romance. So romance is to be expected since the Lyonel/Arya pairing is going to be vital to the story. But if you're worried that it's going to be _only_ romance then you've got nothing to worry about. I don't know if this chapter satisfied you, what with the conflicts between Lyonel, Catelyn and Arya. But if it didn't, then you'll be glad to hear that in the next chapter, i intend to send Lyonel to the Stormlands. Things are bound to happen over there.**

 **JaegerCryptic: I'll try not to. And please, be honest. No need to be gentle. If you think a chapter is boring, say so. As long as you don't flame, and you're being honest while making constructive criticism, I'll be very grateful for it. In any case, thank you for the support.**

 **Darkangel665: I couldn't help but giggle when reading your review. Oh, my sweet summer child.**

 **Bella-Swan: I... I don't... I'm sorry, but I can't really understand what you're trying to say. I can tell your native tongue isn't english, and I mean no offence at all. Not trying to be rude.**

 **Saint Rivers: Glad you like it. And if you like the dark side of Lyonel's morality, be prepared for future chapters.**

 **Leave a review to help improve my writing, or as motivation.**

 **That's all, folks!**


	12. Forgiveness

**A/N: So before anyone starts reading, I want to apologize for what I suppose you could say is false advertising. I said that in the previous chapter, this chapter is going to move the plot forward faster. While in the middle of me writing the chapter, I realized that I needed to have Lyonel interact with several characters that would change the plot from canon. This led to me not include Lyonel's negotiations with the Tyrell's. I wrote so much that I decided to have no Garrett in this chapter (sorry for any Garrett fans) and even considered to still keep writing in order to include Lyonel arriving in Dragonstone and Storm's End.**

 **In the end I decided not to as not only would it keep you guys waiting, but it would also be a very long chapter even WITHOUT Garrett's parts. Too long for some people and maybe even annoyingly long. At least I think. It wouldn't be for me since I love reading, but not everyone is the same.**

 **But one thing that may satisfy or even excite the disappointed (and those not disappointed as well) is that the interactions with the characters that Lyonel has in this chapter is not only going to change existing plots, but also open new ones. These new ones will be revealed later on.**

 **For those curious what the chapter length actually is, it's my longest with 13,000 words in this chapter. A new record.**

 **But in any case, enjoy the chapter.**

* * *

Tyrion sat in front of a table covered in all manner of luxurious food. Yet he had no intention of eating it, not now at least. Thanks to his beloved sister who was angrily pacing back and forth. Fortunately, he knew she was angry at him for Slynt's exile to Castle Black rather than the reason he feared. If she was angry for that reason instead, her anger's flame would be burning far, far brighter and hotter. The inferno would be the cause for his head separating from his shoulders. And what might this reason be, you may ask?

Other than Tyrion being secretly loyal to Lyonel while serving as Joffrey's Hand? Oh, no reason.

They crossed paths in an inn when Lyonel was under the disguise of a traveller going north. During the brief time that they had been reunited, Tyrion declared his loyalty to him. Not that a declaration was needed. Lyonel knew his uncle was no fool, and choosing Joffrey as king would be a mistake only a fool could commit. To Tyrion's surprise, Lyonel had offered means to help him in the form of several underground crime guilds that the young prince himself had been the leader of for years now. That's right. His own nephew had been "donating" to the "noble cause" of several crime guilds, helping them rebuild in return for their loyalty right under the noses of King's Landing's court!

A guild of courtesans who provided useful information after acquiring them from their 'customers', a guild of thieves who work as spies and would steal from nobles as part of an income, and even a small mercenary company created by Lyonel (A fact that no one who hired the company knew, of course) that would occasionally act as assassins in many different ways if he wished it. Or to keep the peace in case of a riot.

Tyrion was quite shocked when he found out that his nephew had been doing this for quite a while, and without anyone's knowledge. These guilds apparently spanned all of the seven kingdoms, although their influence was weakest in Dorne and the Iron Isles as their influence had only just begun spreading. It was still an impressive feat, no less. It seems not even he knew his nephew's true wit and potential.

Once Tyrion had been informed of the operations and had finally arrived in King's Landing, he knew he had to garner support for The Silent Storm. It would prove easy, considering that Lyonel had been building housings, orphanages and canteens for the poor and sick of the city. All he had to do was to whisper the truth into the correct ear and it would spread like wildfire throughout the streets. It would make things far simpler once Lyonel besieges King's Landing. Of course, the prince would much rather stay in the shadows comfortably, but even he had to see the advantage this revelation would bring him. Not to mention that he is to be king. Keeping to the shadows will be impossible.

Another way Tyrion would help his nephew was to contact lords of The West, vassals who preached loyalty to Tywin yet was far from so. Tywin's habit of blaming mistakes of battles on his vassals would make it an easy task, and that's not to mention the claim Lyonel has on the throne or the shrewdness he shared with his grandfather. Lyonel's spies could spread rumours that would portray him as a cold, yet just ruler. Unlike Tywin who wouldn't hesitate dealing out arbitrary commands and sentences to strengthen his own gain.

He looked at his sister. Despite how well hidden Lyonel's own little spiderweb was, he could tell by the look in her eyes that Cersei suspected Tyrion of helping him. She just didn't know how, nor did she have proof.

Regardless of her suspicion, that wasn't the subject that she was currently irked by. "Lord Janos Slynt was commander of the City Watch. You had no right to exile him."

"I have every right, I am the King's Hand."

She glared at him once her pacing stopped, "You're _serving_ as the King's Hand until father gets here. _I_ am the Queen Regent!"

He internally rolled his eyes at her as she began pacing again. "Listen to me, _Queen Regent_. You're losing the people."

She stopped before turning her head to look at him with false amusement, "The people? You think I care?"

"You may find it difficult to rule over millions who'd sooner see you dead than alive." She fell silent, no response ready. "Half the city will be dead by winter. The other half will plot to overthrow you. And your gold-plated thugs just gave them their rallying cry. 'The Queen slaughters babies'."

She had to stop herself from flinching. She did nothing but stare.

"You don't even have the decency to deny it." He sighed, not hiding his disappointment as he took another drink from his goblet. He looked her in the eyes as he said, "What do you think Lyonel will say once he hears of this?"

Her glare burned brighter at how this little monster dared to use her son's name. Yet she wasn't going to allow him to get to her, "As if a traitor's opinion means anything to me."

"No, but your _son's_ opinion does. How do you think he will react when he hears his mother butchered innocent children?" She said nothing as she walked past him and to the balcony, staring out. "Lyonel may be far from moral, but we both know children are on his short list of weaknesses. And you just did the one thing that may alienate him once and for all."

She had no reaction in her posture. Not even shame. Realization dawned on Tyrion, "You didn't give the order?"

No response.

"Joffrey didn't even tell you? Or did he? I'd imagine that'd be even worse."

She finally met his mismatched eyes, "Joffrey did what needed to be done-"

He interrupted her, disbelief in his voice, "Are you trying to convince me or yourself? Perhaps you're working on some sort of justification to tell Lyonel when you face him again? So you can bear to look him in the eyes without shame? It's already hard enough to do it now as it is." Cersei said nothing as she moved past him and sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table. She stared off. "I know what you did, dear sister."

She looked at him, "What are you talking about?"

"I know you saved him."

Her eyes widened and her shoulders tensed, "Have you lost your-"

"Then perhaps you saved Ned Stark's rescuer, a stranger, from an archer's arrow simply because you felt like it? Or perhaps your foot slipped and you fell on the bowman by accident?"

Her eyes glared at him. But she knew she couldn't talk her way out of it. She wasn't going to deny anything, not this time. She simply looked at the ground.

"Don't fret, I won't tell Joffrey."

She looked at him again in surprise.

"After all, he's too foolish to figure it out by himself. I don't feel like pointing him in the right direction- _your_ direction, might I add."

"Don't think I'll owe you any favours for this."

He smirked mischievously, "Oh, I wouldn't dare presume such a thing."

None of them spoke for a while. The uncomfortable silence was broken by Tyrion, "There are whispers in the streets regarding your precious black lion."

"What whispers?"

He masked his hesitation by drinking from his goblet. He didn't want to say this, but perhaps it would take suspicion off him. After all, why would a supporter of the enemy warn her? "They say he was the one responsible for the construction of the housings and canteens for the poor, not Jon Arryn." She scoffed. He ignored it, "This doesn't bode well for Joffrey. The commoners are going to rally to Lyonel's side."

"He's murdered two people in the sight of the public, one of them a knight! Both of them brutalized and maimed! They won't do anything to support him."

"Are you truly so foolish enough as to believe that? The first was a murderer and a rapist who was plaguing Flea Bottom's streets for years! The coming months after the incident saw a drop in the amount of crimes happening because the criminals feared they would cross paths with The Silent Storm and would have their heads smashed into the ground until their skulls were visible! After that, Lyonel increased security with the help of Jon Arryn and provided the streets with more guards, making sure the crime rate stayed as low as it was. The second so-called _knight_ was no better than a brutish brigand who raped and murdered nobles and commoners alike if they were his enemies! Just ask the Martell's, they know better than anyone!"

"They don't know Lyonel increased security," she argued, for some reason. He didn't know why, he was stating facts. There was no reason to deny it.

Unless… no, she would never do that… would she? Could it be that deep down Cersei actually supports Lyonel above her own perfect Joffrey? Is she trying to make Tyrion ignore the rumours by trivializing them? Tyrion mentally shook the thought away. That's a stupid thought and he shouldn't even be considering it.

"They are beginning to. That's what these rumours are about, the people are starting to realise what Lyonel's done for them in secret for all these years and it's going to work in his favour."

"Then silence these rumours!" she finally yelled in annoyance.

He raised his own voice in retort, "The streets are filled with them! Am I to butcher the commoners as Joffrey did the children!?"

"Must I quench these whispers myself!? You never take these things seriously, not you and not Jaime!" She chuckled humorlessly, "Of course, everything always falls on me!"

He stared at her in silence before his lips twitched into a smile, "According to the late Ned Stark, so does Jaime."

Her eyes fell on the table, her tongue falling silent. She stared blankly before letting a short and silent chuckle escape her throat. "You're funny. You've always been funny." Her voice soon began to tremble, "But none of your jokes will ever match the first one, will they? Do you remember? Back when you ripped open my mother on your way out of her and she bled to death."

Tyrion was taken aback and guilt washed over him. That was the reason for her hatred of him. The reason his sister despised him and resented his very birth. She was never going to let him see the end of it. "…She was my mother too."

She shook her head, "Mother gone… for the sake of you." He frowned. "There's no bigger joke in the world than that."

"You say that as if I meant to do it." He leaned forward as he hissed, "Do you think it was my choice? That I wanted that to happen?"

"You might as well have. It doesn't matter, she's gone either way. And it's all because of _you_." She glared at him before standing up and walking out of the room.

* * *

 **Arya**

She woke up with a headache and moaned as she held her head. The memories of the events of the previous night came rushing like a flood, and she suddenly felt somber again. She hid herself under the furs, not wanting to rise. She ruined their friendship. The one single person she could ever see herself falling for, the one person she could ever _want_ to fall for… He probably hates her. She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill once more.

Unfortunately, she knew she couldn't stay in her bed all day. So she went on with the same routine. Washed her face, broke her fast and cleaned her teeth afterwards. She almost didn't dare to step out of her own tent for fear of seeing _him_. But she forced herself out, Nymeria at her side. Even the direwolf seemed doleful. As she walked around the camp, she came across Robb and her mother. And after them, Jon, who had been breaking his fast with Samwell and Myrcella. They all sensed something was wrong with her, yet she refused to speak of it, reassuring them that nothing was wrong. As she walked back to her tent, she suddenly felt a hand grabbing her arm and stopping her. To her surprise, she saw that it was Samwell Tarly. The surprising part wasn't that he was there. It was the concern in his face, "Lady Arya?"

"I'm not a lady. Let me go," she said in a low yet shaky voice as she attempted to pull her arm away.

He refused to release her. He observed her behaviour for quite a bit ever since he saw her when conversing with Jon. The little wolf-spirited girl was unusually quiet. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing! It's none of your business and you don't even care! Why would you?!"

He seemed taken aback by her yelling, "Who said I never cared?"

"You don't even know me! Now let me go!"

He suddenly pulled her along as he walked in between the tents so no one would see them. He finally released her, "What is your problem?"

"Don't pretend as if you care!"

"I _do_ care!" Arya almost recoiled in surprise and shock at hearing the shy boy raise his voice. Sam suddenly realized what he did and lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "I mean… Why wouldn't I? I… I can't exactly ignore your problems when they're making you so sad, can I?"

She was clearly surprised. Her tears returned as she looked away, "I… I hit him."

Confusion was evident in his expression, "Hit him? Hit who?"

She suddenly yelled at him, "Lyonel!" His eyes widened.

He whispered loudly, his voice fearful, "You struck the _prince_?!"

She calmed down before looking at the ground and whispered, "Yes…"

"Why in the name of all that is holy would you do that?"

She snapped at him again, "I was angry, okay!? He was being such an idiot, so insensitive… And I was so angry at him. He said something and I just snapped. I didn't even realize what I did until I saw his cheek turning red."

"S-so it's not entirely your fault. He had to see it coming with how he was acting, didn't he?" His voice was uncertain.

She covered her face with her hands, "No! No, that's not the worst part. He…" Her arms fell to the side. "I struck him the same way his mother struck him when he was just a child. I became so angry because he insulted mother for treating Jon badly. Now I'm no better than Cersei."

The gravity of the situation finally became clear to Sam, "Oh…" He noticed how she seemed regretful and despaired. Gods, he was shit at comforting others. "L-listen… I don't know the prince personally but… I mean, he had to be an exceptional man to make you like him, didn't he?"

She stared at him, her tears still falling, yet not as much as they used to. Her voice was morose and quiet, "What are you getting at?"

"I mean…" He sighed. "The man isn't… He's not exactly the most kind and social person I know. And the fact that you managed to become one of his closest friends has to count for something. The man doesn't get easily attached. Which is why his attachment is going to be so much harder to loosen. He's going to realize his mistake, just as you did. You're both going to apologise and move on. That's what friends do, isn't it? I've had plenty of fights with what few friends I have, but we're still friends. And I know how you truly feel for Lyonel."

Her eyes widened as she opened her mouth to protest, but was stopped, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone, just hear me out! You're friends. Your bond is strong, anyone can see that. I mean, he beat a soldier senseless in two seconds for simply speaking disrespectfully towards you."

"But I hurt him in one of the worst ways possible."

"Just as he hurt you when he came after your mother?" he reasoned.

"That's not the same thing."

"Isn't it?"

She stared at him, unsure what to say. The Tarly boy sighed, "I won't lie to you. Friendship and love isn't easy and smooth sailings and happily-ever-afters. Not without effort, anyways."

She stared at him in disbelief, "I can't believe I'm getting a lecture on love from you."

He grimaced slightly, and she apologised. "No, it's alright. But please, just listen to me. Friendship and love isn't easy."

"How do you know what love is?"

"Well, that's what friendship is, isn't it? Love? Admittedly, being _in_ love is a bit more intimate than I'm comfortable with when it comes to Jon-" The corners of her lips twitched upwards slightly. "-but still. Love is needed for friendship. They cannot exist without the other. And not a single perfect couple exist, do you know why?"

She shook her head.

He chuckled out, "Because perfect is boring!" She looked surprised at hearing that. "I'm sure that there are couples that are perfect for each other, but being perfect in _general_? You know how many books are out there that have the perfect hero? The knight in shining armour? Every single one of them is as boring as the other. The same thing with relationships. If one is perfect, then the other can predict exactly what'll happen. And if they know what's going to happen, if everything becomes repetitive, it becomes boring! There needs to be unpredictability, conflict, both of which is created if the couple consist of two people with different personalities."

"Without _any_ sort of difference, the fire and passion in the relationship will fade. Friction is needed to create fire, otherwise the fire will just… die out. Those conflicts, large or small, is what will keep the fire burning. Because the reward is well worth the risk. Because despite all of your differences, you'll always manage to find your way back to each other, no matter the size of the difference. That's how you know it's a true friendship and true love. Does your friendship with the prince mean so little to you that _one_ fight will end it?"

She shook her head. Of course not. Lyonel means far too much to her. She only hoped he felt the same about her.

"Exactly. Now, I'm not saying that there'll always be fights in relationships, because it's surely not a requirement for a good relationship, but _if_ there is then you have to overcome your differences if your friendship truly means something. Friendships don't exist because people share the same opinions and views and agree on everything. They exist because people are willing to ignore their differences and show kindness and compassion to others, and are willing to share their love."

Arya stared at the ground in thoughtfulness. Perhaps Samwell was right. She suddenly felt better. It was just like Samwell said. Not everything is smooth sailing like it was for her relationship with Lyonel. In fact, none of her relationships were perfect, not even with Jon. They had occasional fights, granted it was rare with Jon, but it still happens. Perhaps a big fight was inevitable seeing as everything was going perfectly smooth with them. They weren't the same person with the same opinions and morals, far from it in the latter case. It was just a matter of time before the differences started showing. This was just an inevitable conflict, even if it was big. Her outlook finally seemed brighter and she even had a small and foolish hope that everything would be alright. But she wasn't an idiot. She knew she had to _make_ it right herself. And it might even take a while before he can forgive her. But she wasn't going to just stand around. The next time she saw him, she would apologise. She'd make it right.

She met his eyes, "I never knew you had so much experience when it came to this type of thing. You do know how to give a speech."

He chuckled before shrugging with a sheepish smile on his face, "Honestly, I got it from a novel I read once when I was bored."

Arya suddenly burst into giggles, unable to help herself and Samwell joined in with his own laughter. She could tell he had a kind heart when he decided to help a stranger like her. Perhaps she has found a new friend.

He suddenly added, "Not that it makes my speech any less genuine. I meant every word I said."

"I know… Thank you, Sam."

He nodded with a kind smile, "Of course. Now come on. Jon's worried about you. You may have fooled Lord Stark and your mother but not him. We should probably alleviate said worries."

Nodding with a smile, she wiped the wet lines left behind by her tears on her cheek before following him. Once they arrived at Jon's tent, she explained the situation and the reason to her unusual silence and somber mood. Jon thanked Samwell for helping her and was surprised and even looked a bit guilty at hearing the reason to the incident the night before. Arya immediately reassured him that he was not to blame for it. Just as he wasn't to be blamed for his status as a bastard.

"So… what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?" Arya asked.

"Well, you can't just leave it at that and expect things to get better by itself."

She sighed before staring at the ground, "I'm… I'm not sure. I suppose I should talk with him."

"I'd do it fast if I was you," Samwell interjected.

She turned to him in confusion, "Why?"

"Lyonel's going to Storm's End."

Her eyes widened, "He's what!?"

Jon explained, drawing her attention to him. "He's going to negotiate with Renly and the Tyrell's as neither has declared for anyone."

Realization struck her, and she opened her mouth to speak before remembering Lyonel's words of caution. That she should only speak of what he told her to people she trusts. She definitely trusted Jon, and knew that Samwell wouldn't betray them. But she didn't want to risk anyone eavesdropping on them. Call it paranoia. Better safe than sorry.

"When is he leaving?"

"Before the sun is above our heads," Jon answered.

"So soon?"

"Aye. He wants to get it over with as soon as possible."

Was that truly the reason? Or did Lyonel simply want to be as far away from her as possible, as soon as possible?

Arya immediately ran out of Jon's tent before making her way to Lyonel's. With every step she took, the shallower her breaths became as her nervousness grew. So much that her hand trembled. Gods, how does Lyonel have such an effect on her!? Oh, wait, she was infatuated with him, that's how.

Yet it didn't matter. She wasn't walking away from this. So she continued on until she finally spotted his tent. She walked over and moved to enter before the two soldiers guarding the tent stepped in front of the entrance, startling her with a small gasp.

"What are you doing?"

"The King has commanded us to make sure no one bothers him."

"But I need to speak to him, it's important."

"We can relay the message."

Her frustration grew, "No, it's personal! Don't you understand!?"

The two guards glanced at each other. Personal? They looked back at her before the bearded and older man spoke. "Are you Lady Arya Stark?"

She would have told them to not call her a lady, yet they'd mistake it as a no. So instead, she settled for saying, "Yes! Now move, I have to speak with him!" She moved to enter, but the guards stepped closer together, closing what small gap was between them.

The younger one spoke this time. "He told us to not let _anyone_ enter."

She looked surprised, "Even me?"

The two glanced at each other again before he responded with, "Especially you."

Arya looked as if she'd been struck and took a step back before staring at the ground with a shocked and yet sad expression. Her chest ached and she closed her eyes. Their friendship meant so, _so_ much to her, but it seemed it didn't mean as much to Lyonel. Not that she could blame him. After what she did, she deserved contempt. Yet that knowledge did not ease the pain one single bit. She blinked back tears before mumbling shakily, "I see…"

The older bearded man had an apologetic look on his face. He had the look of a father who had just seen his own child shed tears of sadness. A look her own father had in his eyes. "For what little it's worth… I'm sorry, milady."

Arya was heartbroken but instead of feeling sorry for herself, she looked at him and nodded, "No, it's alright. You're just following orders."

"Not that. I'm sorry that he will not see you." Her eyes widened in surprise. He lowered his voice as he said, "I'm sure his grace will come around soon."

She smiled, yet it was a sad smile, "Thank you." She felt no encouragement from his words. Yet the gesture was still appreciated. She turned around before walking away while wiping her eyes. She'd have to come back later. He clearly didn't want to see her. She only hoped he would wish to soon.

She had to let out the anger she had against herself on something. She needed to train. But not with Syrio. She needed to be alone.

 **Lyonel**

Lyonel was lying on his bed, staring up at nothing. He said nothing to the guards for them to let her in. He couldn't face her when he simply _assumed_ she hated him after Eddard's death. How could he face when he _knew_ she hated him? He didn't want to let her in, to hear her words of hatred, to hear her insult him, calling him an abomination. Just like his mother.

He shook his head of morbid thoughts. He had to find and speak with Theon Greyjoy, yet he found it hard to motivate himself to get up. He would have spoken to him yesterday, but he couldn't for quite obvious reasons. The same reasons he didn't want to get up for.

He finally did it. He found someone he could genuinely consider a friend. Someone other than his family where he didn't have to pretend and could finally be himself. Someone he would finally be comfortable being out of the shadows with, not having to hide behind a mask of silence to avoid interaction. Someone who made him actually _feel_ something, something positive. Not just anger, indifference, sorrow or annoyance that were the feelings he usually felt.

There were times when he didn't feel anything at all.

But now he finally had something that made him genuinely happy other than his siblings, including those his family by bond and his uncles.

And he ruined it.

Fucking ruined it.

He ruined the one good thing he had, the one genuine friendship, outside of his family. No, not _just_ friendship. He felt something more. Something different. He didn't have a word for it but what little he _could_ describe about his feelings for her was that he felt responsible for her. He felt like it was his duty to make sure she had a happy life. And he enjoyed doing it. He enjoyed seeing her smiles of joy and happiness. Her child-like excitement and awe at hearing the stories and legends of great warriors or when he spoke of the culture and myths of the Free Cities whenever they ate together. Her laughter as they joked, practiced and bonded together during the free time that they spent with each other. He genuinely enjoyed making sure she was happy, no matter how hard the task was at times.

But it doesn't matter anymore. He destroyed it and he did it simply because of his own selfish and pent up anger. He said Lady Catelyn was selfish and spiteful. But that was a lie. _He_ was selfish and spiteful. Against his mother. So he decided to take it out on someone who had nothing to do with his problems. He did the one thing he accused Catelyn of doing.

The voices were right. He was a hypocrite. He was dirt. Perhaps he was always meant to feel nothing. Just like the voices said, he doesn't deserve happiness. Perhaps all of his friendships were doomed from the start. Perhaps _that_ was part of the plan the Old Gods had for him.

' _It seems I am not meant to have happiness. I was put in this world to protect the ones I love. They are the ones who are meant to be happy, not me. Because unlike me, they deserve it. I was always meant to be in the shadows. I could protect my loved ones and I wouldn't hurt them at all. It was going perfect until now. When I decided to step out of the shadows longer than I should have, because I got too comfortable around her. Look how it ended. I hurt her. She was my responsibility, and one of my closest friend and I hurt her so much she hates me, just like my mother. Why else would she strike me?_ '

Her slap was surprisingly strong for someone of her age and stature. It still barely harmed him physically.

Yet her strike hurt him more than his own mother's did.

He sighed silently through his nose as he closed his eyes. He had no time to be lazy. It didn't matter if he felt good or bad. There were things of greater import than his feelings that demanded his attention.

He opened his eyes and sat up on his bed before standing up. He put on a simple, and rather informal cotton shirt and proceeded to make his way through the camps, in search of Greyjoy. He was to depart soon so Lyonel could expect to find him in his tent, packing his personal belongings for the journey. He found the tent rather easily as someone had erected a small post flying the Greyjoy Kraken. A single guard stood outside the entrance and glanced at the prince, not knowing who he was. "What business do you have with Lord Greyjoy?"

Lyonel stared at the guard before speaking, "Tell him I wish to trade words."

"And who are you?"

"Lyonel."

The guard's eyes widened slowly. The posture, the way this young man walked and how he carried himself, the frown and seriousness, the aura of authority and power. He would have mistaken the man for an old and veteran warrior if not for his rather young face. And even then, this person's true age was unbeknownst to the guard who had thought him a man of eight-and-ten, when in truth he was only five-and-ten. With little more than a month left until his name-day.

The guard realized that no mere soldier carried himself the way this boy did. Not even most lords could. He realized this was The Silent Storm, "Your grace?" He immediately bowed his head lowly, "Forgive me, I'll tell Lord Greyjoy at once!" He immediately moved inside the tent and after a few seconds, returned, "He can receive you now, your grace."

Lyonel nodded wordlessly before parting the tent flaps and revealing a slightly surprised Theon Greyjoy, standing up from his seat next to a table, his posture tense. On the table was a jug of wine and a goblet. He could never understand drinking wine this early in the morning. He ignored it. It didn't really matter. Theon himself was wearing nothing more than trousers and a cotton shirt, just like Lyonel. Yet his was loose and had a wine small stain on the right side of its chest. It was clear he put it on in a hurry. Lyonel's eyes looked behind him and saw a woman lying on Theon's bed, no doubt a whore. The bed itself had stains on it.

Hmm. They didn't look like wine stains. Not nearly as red. What sort of stain was it?

He dismissed the matter. He looked back at Theon himself and could see the sceptical look in his eyes. Suspicion born from their fathers' idiotic war, no doubt. "Your grace. Forgive me, you caught me by surprise. I would have worn something more appropriate if I knew you were coming. And, uh…" he looked back at the woman lying asleep on his bed. "…I would have dismissed my current company-"

"Sit," Lyonel suddenly said, surprising him. Theon complied slowly as he sat back down. His tense shoulders hinted at his discomfort. "Relax. Drink."

Confusion was clear on the young man's face, "Forgive me, your grace, but what is this?"

The prince slowly walked over him before grabbing the jug and pouring wine into his goblet. "I meant it when I said relax. I'm here to speak to you." He placed the jug on the table before gripping the goblet and holding it to him. "This is not a honey-worded discussion between Prince Baratheon and Lord Greyjoy. This is a conversation between Lyonel and Theon."

Theon was evidently hesitant, and very surprised, before his hand slowly took the goblet and brought it to his lips. As he drank from it, Lyonel continued, "Be yourself." The young kraken placed the goblet on the table, his surprise only increasing. "No pleasantries, no arse kissing." Theon couldn't help the laughter escaping his lungs.

Lyonel ignored his laughter and asked, "I hear you are to sail to the Iron Isles in an attempt to gain us an alliance with your father."

His smile fell and he nodded, "You heard correctly."

"You don't truly believe that will work, do you?"

He frowned, "Why wouldn't-"

"Because you're asking him to ally himself with the sons of two men who killed his sons and humiliated him, who took away his only remaining boy and heir."

Theon flinched at being reminded of his brothers' fate and his family's defeat. He was silent for a while before he reasoned, "I'm his only heir, he'll listen to me… He has to."

"Because you are his son?" He nodded. Lyonel's face was as calm as ever as he said, "What do you know of the Ironborn?"

He grinned smugly in response, "The Ironborn are fierce warriors, who take what is theirs by right!"

"The Ironborn are nothing more than glorified raiders." His eyes widened before frowning deeply. He opened his mouth to protest before remembering who it was he was speaking to. "But you are right about one thing. They _take_. But not what is theirs by right. For they have no right. They are no more than pirates."

Theon's frown deepened, "Forgive me, your grace… but if we are to have a conversation, then I'd rather it not be you insulting my people."

"I said no pleasantries. And tell me this, Theon. If you were nothing more than the son of a humble farmer, a farmer who works every single day to make sure his family survives, who struggles to scrape up what little he can to feed his wife and children, how would you feel if some proud Ironborn raider came from the coast murdered your father, raped your mother while still covered in your father's blood and then moved on to your sister, hmm?" Theon's eyes widened in shock. He was taken aback and speechless, his mouth opening yet failing to form words.

"What would you do when in that helpless moment? What would you do when they decide to give your mother and sister to the rest of the men? Would you take up a fishing spear and fight them? No, you'd be slaughtered and your mother and sister would be gang-raped until these fierce, proud Ironborn warriors decide to cut their throats and leave their bodies to rot or to take them as salt wives, to be nothing more than breeding slaves for the rest of their lives. And why would this happen? Why would your poor, humble and hardworking father be butchered like cattle and the innocent women in your family be raped and thrown away like a piece of flesh made for nothing more than pleasure? Because the Ironborn take what's theirs by right. Because that is what the iron price demands."

Theon stared, stunned and unable to speak. Lyonel continued, "However, despite the Ironborn's insistence that they are paying the iron price, the truth is that the only ones paying for something are the commoners, not them."

Silence reigned as neither spoke. Theon stared forward, not meeting the prince's eyes. At least he had the decency to look ashamed at his naiveté. He suddenly broke the silence, "Why are you telling me this?"

"So you know the truth of your family's culture. Not the glorified tales your father filled your young ears with." He kept staring forward for a while before Lyonel spoke again, "I am not telling you this to insult the Ironborn."

Greyjoy frowned and glared at him, "Then why _did_ you tell me this?"

"So that you don't suffer the same disappointment I suffered when I found out the truth about _my_ father."

His frown faded as confusion replaced anger, "What truth?" What did the prince mean by disappointment?

Lyonel stared at the ground before his eyes flicked back to him. "Do you know what it's like to think the world of your father? To hear stories of his greatness and how he crushed his foes? To have such high expectations of them, to admire every single trait about them? Only for it to be trampled into dust?"

His eyes widened, "I-I can't say I have…"

"That is what I felt when I heard my father allowed Gregor Clegane to walk free and unpunished after the Sack of King's Landing."

He looked surprised, "The Mountain?"

Lyonel nodded, "Robert Baratheon was my hero when I was a child of six. One day, I sat down with my Uncle Tyrion and he was teaching me the houses of the West on a map. I finally arrived at the Clegane Keep. My uncle told me the truth of what The Mountain did. I was so disgusted and furious by what he did to Elia Martell and her children. And I hated my father even more for it. Many suspect I did what I did in the Tourney of The Hand to save The Knight of Flowers. Loras Tyrell means nothing to me. I only wanted to murder Clegane for what he did to the Martells."

"Why?" Theon asked. Why would someone such as Lyonel even care what happened to them? He was hardly the most compassionate and empathetic person.

"Because what if that had been my mother in Elia's place? What if it had been Tommen's skull crushed against the wall and Myrcella who was stabbed fifty times as she screamed? How would I feel if I was miles away from King's Landing in Storm's End as my mother was raped and my siblings murdered while I could do nothing but bend the knee to the one who allowed the savage who committed the deeds to walk free? The disappointment I felt cannot be described by mere words."

Lyonel could see the sympathy in Theon's eyes. "I… I can't imagine what that'd be like… Lyonel."

"And that is why I'm here, speaking of this to you. So that you won't suffer the same as I did. To have your hopes and expectations crushed. I'm here to lower said expectations for _your_ sake. When you arrive in Pyke, your father _will_ make you choose between him and us. It does not matter if you are his heir, the Ironborn take what they want, they do not receive it as a gift. Paying the gold price is a shameful thing, so they choose the iron price."

Theon said nothing as he continued to stare. Lyonel wandered to the second chair next to the bed before sitting down on it. He placed his arms on his knees and leaned forward before staring at the ground. "What is family to you, Theon Greyjoy?"

Theon was rather surprised by the sudden question. "Sorry?"

"What do you perceive as family?"

He contemplated the question in his head with a thoughtful expression, "Well… my father, mother, sister and brothers, of course."

"And who are your brothers and sisters?"

He had a confused look on his face, uncertain if this was some sort of test. "The people I was born with."

To his surprise, Lyonel chuckled humourlessly, not taking his eyes off the ground. "I thought the very same thing once. But as I grew up, I was taught different at a far too young age that blood isn't family. I realized that when my father beat me when he was drunk after I found myself standing up for my own mother's honour when he was flirting with a maid in her presence." Theon's eyes widened in shock. "I realized that when my mother beat me for defending my younger siblings from Joffrey. I realized that when Joffrey tried to remove my fingers with a kitchen knife he stole from the cook while his back was turned."

At seeing his shocked look, Lyonel said, "I tell you this not in hopes of gaining your sympathy. I simply wish to make you understand true family." Theon nodded slowly in understanding. The prince looked up from the ground, "I figured something out when I first met the Starks. I've known them for almost a year now and I felt more comfortable with Lord and Lady Stark than I ever did Cersei and Robert." He shook his head slowly before continuing, "Family isn't blood. Family isn't who you're born with, who shares your last name or who you grow up with."

Theon found himself confused at hearing the last part. "Then what is family?"

Lyonel seemed to stare straight into his very soul as he said, "It's who you'd die for." The impact of the words left him wide eyed and speechless. "Who you're willing to die for, whether it's Balon Greyjoy, a stranger who calls himself your father, or Robb Stark, someone you consider a close friend and brother, is up to you. And only you. Don't feel obligated to side with either on the grounds of who shares your blood. Choose what your heart and instincts tell you, not what others say."

Theon was left wide eyed and silent. His eyes were opened, and cleared of a fog blinding them, by his words. Lyonel stood up before walking over to him and placing his hand on his shoulder. Theon looked up at him in surprise. The prince nodded before making his way to the entrance.

Behind him, the young kraken called after him, "Why are you still sending me if there is a chance of me choosing my father over you and Robb?"

Lyonel froze and stood still as a statue for a while until he faced him again, "Because I know what it's like to not know who you can trust. What it's like to not know who truly loves you and who would stab you in the back the moment the opportune time presents itself. And above all, I know what it's like to not know your true family, to look at your surroundings with uncertainty and doubt when you should be looking around with a comfortable and safe smile on your lips. I know you put up a front to hide your insecurities. The smug grin and the arrogant attitude, the boasting of your sexual escapades... it's all a mask you hide behind."

Theon felt slight embarrassment at being figured out so effortlessly. "I…"

"Feel no shame. Everyone wears a mask. You don't know who you are and who your family truly is. I discovered my own family the hard way. I tell you this so that you may be spared of that. I wouldn't wish the betrayal I felt on you."

And without another word or a second of a glance, he turned around and left, leaving a speechless Theon to his thoughts.

As Lyonel made his way to prepare his personal effects, armour and sword in preparation for the journey to Dragonstone and Storm's End, his gentle frown returned to his face. He made sure to take the route that didn't require him to wander near Arya's tent. Once he arrived, he immediately opened the small and simple wooden chest at the end of his bed before he took off his cotton shirt and continued by putting on his personalized leather tunic. He'd have a page bring his armour along later. As he looked at the remaining contents of the chest, he saw his sword in its sheath belt and next to it was the small knife he often would hide in the belt.

He grabbed the belt before wrapping it around his waist and fastening it. He hid the knife before someone entered his tent. He turned around and saw one of the men who guarded his tent come in, "Your grace. There's a man here who says he knows you. He requests an audience with you."

Lyonel stared before asking, "Who?"

He shrugged, "I know not, your grace. He wears a cloak and has a sword at his side. We asked him for his name, yet he refused to talk. Said he'll only speak to the king." A man wearing a cloak? Not exactly the best description. Who could it possibly be?

Was it… was it the stranger who visited him? Did he reveal himself to the world now instead of only Lyonel?

"Take me to him." The guard nodded, and Lyonel followed. He was taken to the clearing in front of the tent where they had their last war council. Soldiers and a select few lords, including Robb Stark and Roose Bolton, stood on the edge of the clearing, all observing a cloaked man holding the reins of his horse. Something about him was familiar. The firm yet humble posture. The man's head seemed to perk up at the realization that Lyonel had arrived. He walked over to the man and stood in front of him. The shadow covered his face almost completely. "You requested an audience with me."

The man nodded. "I did."

He had to stop his eyes from widening at hearing the familiar voice. The man's hands went up to his hood before pulling it back slowly, revealing an equally familiar face. "Ser Barristan?"

Murmurs broke throughout the observers, yet were ignored by the two. "Aye, your grace."

"What are you doing here?"

"Your… half-brother dismissed me from my service as the kingsguard."

This time, Lyonel allowed his eyes to widen, "On what grounds would he do such an idiotic thing?"

"Old age."

He scoffed before staring. Joffrey truly was a fucking idiot. Not only did he dismiss a member of the kingsguard on the grounds of old age, he dismissed Ser Barristan Selmy himself. Not only that, a place was already vacant with the death of Meryn Trant. "Why are you here?"

Shame and regret crossed the kind man's features, "I seek your forgiveness, your grace. I failed you and Lord Stark. I stood by in the throne room when he was wrongfully imprisoned. I did nothing when I should have acted in his defence. And because of my inactions he has now passed from this world. And a war rages across the Seven Kingdoms."

Lyonel stared with an unreadable expression before Barristan suddenly took a step back and unsheathed his sword, the blade's rasp echoing. Lyonel stood still, unfazed, while the soldiers observing all gripped the hilt of their swords until they saw that the former kingsguard knelt. Barristan turned the sword in his hands and gripped the tip of the blade before holding out the hilt towards Lyonel. The prince stared at it, his expression not changing for a second. "You are the only king I can be proud follow. I have watched you grow from a boy to a man. You may not be the kindest, but I know that you would put the interest of the realm before your own. You are loyal and just. With a courage unmatched by any. You are the only hope for The Seven Kingdoms. Take my blade or take my life. Drape a white cloak over my shoulders or redeem my mistake in the throne room with my sword."

He stared for a long time, tension thick as the observers looked on to see what the prince would do. Lyonel's hand slowly reached out before gripping the hilt and taking the sword. He held it in front of him as he inspected the clean and reflective blade. The observers were figuratively on the edge of their seats as they anxiously waited. As Lyonel turned the blade slightly to the right, he saw the face of Roose Bolton in the warped reflection, standing amongst the rest. He could see that his eyes had widened slightly. ' _Hmm. The first time I've ever seen an emotion on him._ '

He remembered hearing the aftermath of the Battle of The Trident. Ser Barristan had been wounded and brought before his father. Lord Bolton insisted on slitting his throat. Instead, Robert did the one thing Lyonel can say proudly that he'd do the same. He sent for his own maesters to tend to Barristan's wounds before his own. ' _He's testing me. To see if I'm more worthy of his loyalty than my father._ '

Lyonel stared at the blade before his eyes wandered to the kneeling Ser Barristan. The voices in his head returned. ' _Do it. He wants to die, free him from his guilt! Eddard died because of him! He deserves this..! DO IT! YOU FUCKING COWARD! PIERCE HIS HEART!_ ' The voice growled almost bestially, and each time it did, Lyonel's vision darkened with crimson red before returning to normal once it stopped speaking. The voices are becoming more and more intense every day. How long before madness consumed him?

Gods, he was willing to do anything to shut it up!

' _NOW!_ ' the demonic voice shrieked.

He rotated the sword in his hands before suddenly raising it next to his head, his right hand holding the hilt as his left hand's palm was placed on the pommel. Barristan closed his eyes and awaited his fate, the crowd held their breath, and Roose was eager to see what comes next.

Lyonel thrust the blade down.

Ser Barristan flinched as he heard the blade enter.

What surprised him was that he did not _feel_ the blade enter. He opened his eyes to see that Lyonel had thrust the sword into Barristan's own leather sheath before suddenly gripping Barristan's arm and pulling him up to stand. Surprise was evident on the knight's face, "Y-your grace?"

Lyonel shook his head, "You bow to no one, Ser Barristan. I would gladly accept your blade into my service."

"But… I failed you…"

"Your inaction in the throne room is what prevented more unnecessary deaths. Despite your skill, it wouldn't have been enough to fight off all the guards in King's Landing."

Barristan stared before bowing his head, "Thank you for your mercy, your grace. I will not fail you again."

He stared, "You never did." Barristan bowed his head again in gratitude.

Lyonel remembered the voices blaming him for Eddard's death. Suddenly, it's Barristan's fault? ' _I'm no fool._ ' He thought.

A single low, growling voice returned, faint. ' _No… You are far, far worse._ ' The voice faded, leaving Lyonel discouraged by its parting words.

He slowly turned his head back and saw Roose staring at him, face unreadable. He'd say he's sorry to disappoint him. But he wasn't. He'd have plenty of other chances to satisfy the monster in Roose Bolton in the future. He tore his gaze from The Leech Lord before turning to Ser Barristan, and motioning his head for the knight to follow him. They spoke along the way to Lyonel's tent. "Fill your belly with water and food. We ride to Dragonstone and Storm's End before midday."

"Storm's End?"

"I'm to negotiate with Renly. But first, we shall take a ship to Dragonstone. My Uncle Stannis will come with us."

The knight showed a rare frown, "Renly is your uncle, and you are heir to the throne. There is nothing to negotiate, he should have bent the knee already."

"The Tyrell's won't care. They have Renly seduced and they're going to try to propose something that will benefit them."

"Such as?"

Lyonel's mind predicted several different possibilities. "Knowing the Tyrell's previous attempts, they're going to try and marry me to Margaery Tyrell." His spies informed him of Renly's attempt of putting Margaery on the throne when he showed Lord Stark a portrait of Margaery and asked if she resembled Lyanna Stark. A pathetically transparent attempt.

Ser Barristan had a look of surprise on his face, "But you are betrothed to Lady Arya."

He almost flinched at hearing her name. "…Betrothals can be broken."

The knight stopped Lyonel in his tracks by gripping his shoulder when they were right outside his tent. Ser Barristan would never consider doing such a thing to any of the previous kings. Yet he has watched Lyonel as a child and seen how he grew into a man far too soon for his age. He began seeing him something akin to a grandson. He has seen the bond he had with the wolf-spirited girl. They were practically inseparable. He never imagined hearing such a response from him. "Your grace?"

His brows furrowed, "What's wrong?"

Barristan stared at the prince, "I could ask you the same…"

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"What happened?" he asked with an almost paternal and authoritative voice.

"What makes you think anything happened?" The knight stared before Lyonel realized how the knight knew something vexed him. He had been witness to Lyonel's bond with Arya. He sighed quietly, "Follow me." They both went inside and he turned around to face him, leaning back on the table behind him and placing his hands on it.

"Now… Tell me."

He stared at the ground before uttering, "I ruined it." He looked up to see Barristan's confused expression, "I ruined our friendship."

"How? The two of you were connected by the hip, there was not a single day that the two of you didn't train, eat or spend time with each other after the event in The Trident. What could you possibly have done to ruin what you had, your grace?"

He chuckled humourlessly before his false smile fell swiftly. He sat down on his bed and stared at the ground. "I was witness to Lady Catelyn's cruelty towards Eddard Stark's bastard. I defended him. She… She reminded me of my mother. Of how she treated me. No, I did not defend Jon. I insulted Lady Catelyn. Because I didn't do it for Jon. I did it simply because of the hatred I bore my mother. Later that day, as the sun had passed from the sky, Arya came to my tent. We… argued. I said things I never should have. I pushed her too far, and I did it wittingly. She ended up striking me."

Ser Barristan's eyes widened, "She struck you?"

He nodded, "Aye. I can't blame her. But at the time, I was shocked. I was reminded of Cersei and how she abused me. I felt betrayed. So I commanded her to leave before anyone of us could apologise for our actions. She left in tears. She hates me."

As those last three words left his lips, Lyonel's heart constricted in his chest painfully. He closed his eyes, his expression turning almost morose.

She hates him. She fucking hates him and there's not a goddamned thing he can do about it.

That realization kept eating away at him, taxing him far too much for his own good. His heart ached. Not that he could blame her for doing so, though. He deserves it.

Ser Barristan stared at him with sympathetic eyes. The young lad always had a hard time understanding other people and their emotions as he barely felt any himself. He couldn't know that emotions can take over and cloud one's mind and judgement. To him, every action is genuine. He mistakes Arya's strike as hatred when it was only her emotion getting the better of her. Especially when that strike had reminded the prince of his childhood abuse. Lyonel clearly wants to put it behind him and go back to the way things were between them. And knowing Arya's quite poorly-veiled feelings for Lyonel that Barristan noticed before she herself did, she wants the same thing. "It'll be alright, your grace."

He kept staring at the ground as he asked, "What makes you say that?"

Barristan would have explained emotions, but that had been attempted before by Tyrion. Yet all it did was teach Lyonel to read people's emotions in their eyes and their faces. Barristan knew he had to experience the emotions to truly begin understanding them. Emotions can't be taught. So there was no point in telling him. He would figure out the reason behind her strike eventually, whether she explains herself to him or he solves it out himself. Though, the latter is unlikely, as once again, Lyonel barely knew anything about emotions.

Instead, he settled for responding with, "Certain things have a way of working themselves out, as unlikely as that might sound, your grace. And I am also no fool. Your bond with Lady Arya is far too strong for a single fight to ruin."

Lyonel kept staring before looking the knight in the eyes, "Don't let her hear you call her a lady."

Barristan laughed, a sound pleasant to the prince's ears. The Kingsguard was a kind and honourable man, no doubt. Yet he rarely laughed. Lyonel let his lips form a small smile. At least he could make someone properly happy without fucking it up.

"Go now, and eat. I don't plan to stop for food very often along the way. I'd much rather get this farce of a negotiation with the Tyrell's over with as soon as possible."

He nodded before leaving Lyonel alone with his self-loathing and grief at the loss of one of his closest friends.

It wasn't until ten minutes later when Myrcella's angered voice was heard outside of the tent, "I don't give a _shit_ if he wants to be alone! NOW LET ME IN!"

He stood up swiftly before rushing to the tent flaps. He had never heard Myrcella this angry before, nor had he heard her swear so publicly. He opened the tent flaps and parted the two guards to reveal a furious Myrcella. "Come in," He immediately said. What could possibly have gotten her this angry? He walked back inside with her at his heel. The moment he turned around, he asked with concern in his voice, "What's wrong?"

He suddenly gripped his knee in pain when Myrcella kicked it, bouncing on his uninjured leg before sitting down on the chair behind him, still gripping his leg. "OH, SON OF A WH… horse!" He breathed out in relief at the save. But the relief was short-lived as surprise overcame him.

She had been angry at him before, as siblings usually get. But never to this extent.

She shouted, "You're such an idiot!"

He was taken aback. "Wha- _I'm_ an idiot!?" This turn of events had Lyonel quite confused.

"Yes, _you're_ an idiot! Are you _genuinely_ mentally deficient!? What in the name of The Seven has gotten into you, you imbecile!?"

He grimaced at the aching in his knee, "I could ask you the same thing!"

Myrcella was unbelievably kind-hearted, brave and smart. A loving person. All traits of her mother's good traits, even her looks, yet none of the bad. She loved Lyonel and Tommen the most in this world. Tommen was her equally kind-hearted baby brother, and Lyonel was her guardian angel who would do _anything_ , truly _anything_ , to make her happy. Something she feels confident in saying that she'd do the same for him. He was one of the best things to ever happen to her.

So what could possibly have gotten her this furious with him?

"So I go around camp trying to find my future good sister. You know, to try and bond, since she is to be your wife and since she is Jon's sister. Now, get this. I find her practicing alone while smashing away at a dummy so hard I thought she was about to pull every muscle in her shoulders! I announce myself and she turns around in surprise with _tears_ running down her face! I ask her what's wrong and do you know what she tells me!?"

"I can imagine, yes!"

"WELL, WHAT IS THE PROBLEM THEN!?"

Lyonel stared at the ground in shame, "She hates me… I can't face her and look her in the eyes. I could bear all the people in the Seven Kingdoms shunning me. But not her."

Myrcella's angry expression froze and faded slowly, "Wait… You think she hates you?"

"Why else would she strike me as mother did?"

Myrcella stared at him in disbelief before she suddenly slapped him, a loud smack ringing throughout the tent. "What was that!?" she asked him furiously.

He looked at her in shock, "A-a slap."

"Exactly! _Why_ did I just slap you!?"

"B-because you're angry…"

"Exactly, because I'm angry! I'm bloody furious! What is anger!?"

He looked confused, "What?"

" _What_ is anger!?"

He looked unsure, and hurt that she would strike him. Has he alienated his sister as well now?

"An emotion?"

"Exactly! Anger is emotion! Anger isn't hatred, you dense idiot!"

His eyes widened in surprise, "What do you mean?"

"I didn't strike you now because I hate you! I love you, brother, but by the gods are you a goddamned idiot sometimes! And your idiocy is so infuriating at times! She doesn't hate you! Her feelings simply got the better of her! I've spent about an hour in total with her the entire time I've known her and even _I_ know that she's an emotional person!"

He stared at the ground, "…She feels emotions deeply." Again, it was a trait he greatly admired about her.

"Exactly! That's what happens when you are overcome with emotions, you do things you don't mean to!"

He kept staring before uttering, "…I wouldn't know…"

Myrcella's eyes softened for half a second. She was no fool, far from it. She knew her brother, and she knew him well. He barely knew a thing about emotions. He wasn't normal, that she knew. But she loved him all the same since despite his absence of feelings, one of the few things that made him feel happiness was her, Tommen, and Uncle Stannis and Tyrion. At least that she knew of. But his major lack of feelings very often causes him much confusion. Too much at times. An example of too much confusion was the current situation. She had to set him straight.

She scoffed at how obvious it should have been. Of course he wouldn't know.

He couldn't.

But she's going to make damn sure he doesn't forget it.

Her frown returned, "No, because you're ignorant when it comes to things like this! Don't you see!? She didn't come to your tent to tell you how much she hates you, she wanted to apologise! But your guards dismissed her, and you didn't to a thing about it because you were afraid! So instead you decided to lie down and do nothing!"

He finally looked up at her, "I didn't know!"

"No, but now you do! So don't just lie down! Pull your head out of your arse and go fight for her..!" Myrcella stared at him before shaking her head and finishing softly with, "She's fucking perfect, Lyonel."

He met her eyes in surprise and shock, "I know…" He scoffed in disbelief, "I've never heard you say that word before."

"That's because I've never been this angry with you before." Her beautiful features softened as she closed her eyes and rubbed them with her finger and thumb. She opened them again and frowned, "You had better speak with her before you leave for The Stormlands or so help me gods I'll geld you myself!"

Lyonel stared at her before nodding with a soft and thankful expression. "I will. Thank you, Myrcella. I needed that."

Her glare faded slowly before she nodded in return with a smile on her lips. "Of course. Now come here." She said before moving to embrace him. Lyonel smiled. It had been long since they'd embraced. He missed this. He rubbed her back and they parted. "If you ever need another beating or a threat of gelding, you know where to find me, brother."

He let out a quiet laughter before nodding, "I will."

She flashed another smile before leaving his tent. As she did, Lyonel couldn't help but feel… anxious as he heard a voice, ' _This is far from over. She may have forgiven you once for getting her father killed, but that slap happened. You felt that sting on your cheek and she said those words to you. Perhaps she does not hate you. But she's beginning to_ '. He tried to shake the voice out of his head. They're just planting seeds of doubt, don't listen to them. They're simply trying to manipulate his insecurity and uncertainty.

But… what if they're right? Perhaps Myrcella was right, perhaps Arya didn't hate him. But just like the two of them knew, Arya is an emotional person, vulnerable yet far from fragile. What if her anger hadn't dissipated yet? What if she'd begun to realize that she was right? That Lyonel deserved that strike? What if by the time her anger had disappeared, it'd be too late and she'd already begun to hate him?

Once again, he shook those doubts out of his head. The voices are lying. She doesn't hate him, and he has nothing to worry about.

At least… that's what he kept telling himself.

 **Later**

There he was. Fastening the saddle on his black steed. This was the first time she'd seen him today, Arya realized. Several lords, soldiers and others in the camp had surrounded the party that would soon leave for The Stormlands. Nervousness and doubt settled in her mind as she didn't know if it was appropriate to do this in the view of the public. Of course, Lyonel had yet to saddle his horse and join party, yet he was not too far away. All the lords had to do was turn their heads to the side and they would spot them clearly. Her mother had told her Lyonel couldn't care less if the lords saw their friendship. But that was before she had alienated him. She wouldn't even have considered looking at Lyonel, much less try to speak to him if Princess Myrcella hadn't reassured her that she should.

Arya felt she left out the reason why she was sure he was willing to speak to her, but didn't inquire at the time. She didn't want to. She wanted to hold on to that foolish hope that he didn't hate her.

She walked over to him until she was standing behind him. She tried taking a deep breath, but even that was too shaky and trembling to calm her down. Instead, she decided to get it over with and announce herself, "L-Lyonel?"

He froze for an entire second before continuing to strap the saddle on the horse.

She walked over to his side, standing about four feet away from him. "L-listen… I understand if you… if you hate me. I-I can't blame you." She sighed as her voice kept trembling. She hated sounding so vulnerable and weak. But at that moment, that's exactly what she was. "I was angry at you. You used Jon as an excuse to take out your anger on my mother because you hated your own. You said… things that hurt me when we argued. I defended my mother because you were at fault."

She could see him close his eyes with a hurt and sad look on his face, though he hid it well. She almost didn't notice. She wishes she didn't, for that would have made saying the things she was saying easier. "I was angry at you for being so selfish and… hypocritical. I stood up for my mother, and don't think I'll ever apologise for that." His composure was getting weaker slowly as his sadness seemed to become more evident. He tried to occupy himself by opening the strap of a sack on the horse's saddle to place food and supplies.

"B-But… I _never_ should have struck you. I was so angry, and you were at fault and you deserved to be yelled at. But you didn't deserve to be _struck_. You didn't deserve that pain. You didn't deserve to be reminded of what that… _bitch_ did to you when you were a child. I… I wanted to apologise and to take it back. B-but I was shocked at what I did, the shame was too much. I was overwhelmed… I needed to get away. I should have apologised sooner, I shouldn't have left just because you told me to. I should have stayed and apologised until you decided to forgive me… But I didn't. I'm so sorry, Lyonel. And… I understand if you hate me. Just know that I didn't mean what I did."

Lyonel seemed to ignore her as he continued doing what he was doing. When she stared at the ground, thinking she would receive no forgiveness, nor attention, Lyonel strapped the sack secure before speaking while still staring forward at the saddle in front of him, "I'll miss you."

She looked up at him in surprise with wide eyes. He turned his head to stare at the ground in front of her, before looking in her eyes and nodding slowly, as if to assure her that he meant it.

"Does… Does that mean you don't hate me?"

Lyonel shook his head while scoffing in disbelief. Arya was disappointed until he stared at her again and said, "I couldn't hate you even if I wanted to." She stared at him with her wide, grey, doe eyes, unable to take any action as the confusion, relief and surprise overwhelmed her. After their eyes had lingered on each other for a while, he released the straps to the sack he had been holding and moved towards her, "Come here."

She was surprised when he embraced her, his left arm on her upper back and his right hand on the back of her head, his fingers in her hair, placing the side of her face on his chest. He realized she's had a growth spurt. She's already begun reaching his chest. But he didn't mention such a mundane thing, he wanted to enjoy this moment of relief.

Yet he made a mistake as well. So he too had to apologize for it. "I'm sorry for what I did as well. It _was_ hypocritical and selfish. And I'm glad you set me straight. And that you forgave me."

She let out a breath of relief. The constriction in both of their chests had been relieved and if felt amazing. They could finally breathe again. "And I'm glad _you_ forgave _me_ ," she mumbled happily on his chest.

"Of course. After all… Someone has to stop me from turning into a complete nitwit."

She laughed on his chest, and he grinned toothily as he closed his eyes. Gods, he loved her laughter. Once she calmed down, she breathed out once again in relief. "Gods, I feel so relieved. I wish we never had that fight."

He stayed silent for a bit before answering, his grin reduced into a calm smile. "Likewise."

"But we did. And we got over it."

Lyonel looked away in the distance, still holding Arya to his chest, and noticed that Jon had been staring with a smile on his lips. "We did…"

 _Wake_ _up_

Lyonel pulled back and looked at her, his right hand on her cheek and left on her arm, "Sorry?"

"What?" She asked in confusion.

He stared. "I thought you said something…"

She looked at him oddly before shaking her head, "No, it wasn't me."

"But…" he continued with an inaudibly silent voice, "I heard your voice…"

"Can I come with you?" She asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. He dismissed the previous thought before shaking his head in response. She looked confused and disappointed once more, "Why not?"

His expression turned soft, "I want you to come with me. But I don't know if it is safe for you. I cannot endanger your life by bringing you to the Tyrell's midst. I have theories as to what they're plotting, some are likely, but in the end that's all they are. Theories. Besides, I can't risk anything with Tywin Lannister himself as our enemy. Who's to say the Tyrell's haven't already decided their loyalty and that this negotiation is no more than a trap?"

She looked at the ground, "I understand," before looking back up at him with a frown. "But I'm not going to be happy about it."

"I'm not asking you to be. All I ask you to be is safe."

Her lips twitched into a smile before almost instantly disappearing. She looked down slowly at the ground before her expression turned angry, "Who do they think they are?"

Confusion crossed Lyonel's features. "The Tyrell's?"

She glared up at him, yet he could tell it wasn't him she was angry at. "If those manipulative bastards try anything to harm my family or-"

"-I won't let th-"

"Let me finish!"

He raised his hands in submission. "Letting you finish."

"Not only my family! If those idiots try to harm my family _or_ you… I don't care what you have to do. You run your sword through every single one of them if that's what it takes!"

His eyes widened. "Arya?!"

She wouldn't waver, nor would her glare. "I don't care! Do what you have to do! Kill them all if you have to! Do you hear me, Lyonel? Kill them all."

He stared at her in disbelief, "Arya, what's gotten into you? This is not like you, you're not a violent or murderous person!"

"I know that! I don't care if they live or die, that's not what I'm asking of you! I'm asking you to bring my mother and brother back to me! I'm asking you to survive!" His look of disbelief faded and was replaced with an unreadable expression as he hid his surprise.

She looked at the ground shyly, speaking in a low voice, "I want you to come back to me…"

His eyes widened. She truly did forgive him, she didn't forgive him out of guilt. And not only that, she wished for his safe return as much as she did her family. His hand moved to her cheek and lifted her gaze to his. He feigned ignorance to her blush, "Arya. I promise I'll bring back your family, _and_ come back to you. I would never hurt you in such a way."

She smiled hesitantly, "Promise?"

A nod. "I promise." He let go of her cheek before grabbing the reins of his horse, "It will be a long journey without you. I will be eager to return once I'm done with the Tyrell's."

She grinned at him, "And I'll be eagerly waiting for your return."

He smiled before mounting his horse. He gave her a final look before nodding, and prompting his horse to stride. As he passed her, Arya turned to stare after him. She suddenly remembered the last time she was staring after him as he left. During that time, he was without a tunic and his torso bared. When he turned around and walked away, she saw the numerous thin scars on his back. Lyonel had never seen battle, and according to the rumours he was never injured when he took care of the murderer that attacked him.

She had hoped to inquire where he received them, but forgot until now. They couldn't have been from Joffrey, otherwise he'd have mentioned it when he exposed the hidden truth of his family back at the inn at The Trident. So where did he get them from? She sighed. She'd have to find out when he came back.

She whispered, yet hoped that he somehow still heard her.

"Come back to me…"

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. It didn't SEEM like it moved the plot forward, but it did. And how will be revealed in later chapters. In this chapter, some of you may have noticed how Lyonel's POV revealed how he's been feeling for his entire life. Or rather, how he's not been feeling. I wanted to make his sociopathy a bit more impactful on his character, as sociopathy tends to be. In the future, this lack of feelings and emotions will change and in turn will create confusing, frustrating and even downright difficult mental obstacles for him as he'll struggle to overcome them.**

 **By the way, there were two hints in this chapter that hinted at the plot of future chapters, one of them about Lyonel's past and the other hinting about his future/present. And for those of you thinking "but we already know about his past, how he was abused and how he killed the murderer", that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the parts that we don't know about. The parts that made Lyonel into what he is.**

 **As for the part about his future/present... Well, that will also be revealed later, except sooner than you think. When I do, you'll also realize why I wrote future/present instead of just one of the two.**

 **Anyways, enough with the confusing bullshit that I'm writing right now. Onto the reviews:**

 **Clove25: Seems like you didn't have to pick sides.**

 **Velixare: Glad you like the small comic relief I added.**

 **Rainsfere: My gratitude for your support. And just so you know, Lyonel may or may not fall over either side of said moral razor's edge that he walks on.**

 **Saint River: You'll find out in the next chapter, I hope. As for the day he meets Dany/Aegon, that will be far away as I stated in previous chapters that Lyonel and Arya will go to different parts of the world. This means I'll have to postpone important events during the show. Like the White Walkers invading and Dany coming to Westeros.**

 **Silver crow: I really, really want to have Roose become loyal to Lyonel and even stay that way. But with one of the arcs I've planned in the future in Westeros before Lyonel and Arya journeys to Essos, I'm unsure if that'll happen. It's a though I find interesting and even like. But just because Roose likes Lyonel doesn't mean Lyonel likes Roose. I'm not even sure myself at how it will turn out, we'll just have to wait and see.**

 **As for Garrett becoming loyal to Dany, fat chance. I didn't have Garrett and Lyonel call each other brothers by bond just because it sounds good.**

 **JaegerCryptic: My thanks.**

 **Guest: I knew that that's what it was said, but I always felt like Catelyn's hatred was far too strong for an inheritance problem to be the cause of. It feels like it was more personal and that she had hidden motives other than her children's being usurped. But if it's confirmed that that's the actual reason she hates him, then I suppose you're right.**

 **eBeth093: Ask and you shall receive! (as in, you shall receive a month after asking).**

 **ThelonewolfNT: How so?**

 **BijuuDamaBomber: Who knows, maybe that melanistic Sabertooth/Lion hybrid might come into the story. *Totally discreet wink that doesn't in any way hint towards the creature in Lyonel's dream reappearing***

 **But that's all for now, folks.**

 **Leave a review for constructive criticism on my writing or simply for motivation.**

 **Until next time!**


	13. Dragonstone

**A/N: Yeah, yeah, no one wants to hear excuses, but I have to vent somewhere. Just when school was over, I had to get smacked in the face with a writer's block, didn't I? I had no idea what to write that would be interesting at first. I can only hope none of you will be too disappointed by this chapter.**

 **Despite none of you wanting to hear excuses, you all deserve an apology for me taking so long.**

 **Oh, and look out for the important note in the author's note at the end.**

 **Not much else to say, so go on and enjoy.**

* * *

Lyonel sat in front of a camp fire, the small of his back against a log as his arm was on his right knee, and the other leg laid out straight. His other arm was relaxed at his side, holding a waterskin in his hand. He stared into the beautiful orange embers glowing from the cracks of the charred, black wood. The night had descended upon the sky, and shrouded Westeros in thick darkness. He, Jon and a soldier sat around the fire, the man-at-arms snoring loudly as he slumbered the dull night away. Ser Barristan stood guard facing outwards from the camp. Ghost had laid his head on Jon's lap as his master scratched his snow white fur after having occasionally wandered between him and Lyonel.

Lyonel's eyes wandered down to the knife hidden up his sleeve. He curled his fingers and reached down to its pommel before pulling it out just enough to reveal the bloodied blade. He placed his fingertips on the pommel and pushed it in again. The blood belonged to another spy, but unlike the last one, this one belonged to his grandfather. The spy was the whore who had lain with Theon and was pretending to sleep when he was conversing with Lyonel. Thankfully, she was dealt with before she could report Theon's intention to journey to the Iron Isles to Tywin. She had been brought along by the soldiers as entertainment, along with a few other whores.

Another foolish woman who thought him weak for cunt. He swiftly made her realize that was not the case.

 **One Hour Before**

He stood in the forest on the border of their camp, yet far enough away from it so no one would see him. He stared forward blankly into the woods, waiting patiently. He'd unfastened his breeches, his undergarment on as he waited a few more minutes until the whore finally came into the forest. She would play dumb and act surprised that he was there. She would then proceed to try and seduce him while discreetly coaxing information out of him. Or not so discreetly as he intended to act drunk.

He let out a breath of relief loud enough for her to hear when she stood behind him. She let out a small gasp, startled and turned around before seeing him fastening his breeches. Assuming he had been relieving himself and finished, she prepared herself and allowed a seductive smirk to form on her lips.

Lyonel stumbled around and blinked in surprise, his act beginning. He stared at her with wide eyed, before talking in a drunk voice, yet was careful do not overdo it. "H-how long… were you standing… there?"

As he stared at her, he finally saw her features clearly. She had a sharp and pointed chin, a small nose and slightly high cheekbones. Nothing too impressive. Her black hair was tangled and messy from her previous 'services'. She let out a sultry giggle, "Unfortunately not long enough to see what sword you were hiding in those trousers of yours, my king."

He feigned surprise before a cocky smile, reflecting that of Theon's, appeared on his face as he stepped towards her. She overheard their conversation, and had no doubt thought that Lyonel shared a similar mask like Theon, using arrogance to mask insecurity. He would capitalize on that. "Mayhaps I could show you."

She giggled again as he grabbed her arm and pulled her against him, his other arm wrapping around her waist. She smiled up at him, "Mayhaps you could. But you'll have to pay if you wish for me to do anything with it."

Mock disappointment crossed his features as he pouted like a child, "Aww, even for a king?"

She gave a look of mock-considering, humming as she did. She stopped her humming and spoke, "Perhaps… If you will answer some questions, I would service you any way you wish."

"Questions?" She nodded. "What for?"

She shrugged, "I've always been interested in politics and such. I suppose I got it from my father, he was a soldier. I'm curious about the war."

"If I answer, will you service me?" She nodded with a pleased smile. A smile he returned, "Fine, but first you will do as I say. After I'm done with you, you can ask anything you wish."

She nodded again in agreement. Lyonel was pleased. Her lust would be the end of her. He suddenly snuck his hands under her dress and gripped her arse with both of them before lifting her and pushing her against a tree. She gasped in surprise, "Out here, your grace?"

He let out a lustful growl, "You said you would service me any way I wished."

She laughed, "Indeed I did."

He began kissing her neck, causing her to moan as she began to grow wet. He stopped to stare at her before capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. Between each kiss, she began asking, "So… What… are you planning to do… with the Tyrell's?"

She was attempting to coax the questions out of him anyways, despite their deal. Good thing, he would act distracted, further convincing her that he was drunk. He leaned away from her before he began kissing and licking her neck, speaking as he did, "They want to… marry Margaery to me… as an alliance…"

She smiled. All men were so gullible and oblivious, too busy staring at her tits or fucking her to pay attention. It was even easier when they were drunk. "So that's what they want-" She was unable to hold in a loud moan before continuing. "-an alliance by marriage?"

He nodded before her legs wrapped around his waist and his hands went to grab her breasts.

"What do you plan to do?"

He soon began adding gentle bites to go along with his kisses, causing her to gasp. "I would want nothing more than to accept, rip off that smirking whore's corset, take her from behind like a dog and make her scream out my name, begging for my cock in her." Ugh, he was going too far for his own comfort. She smiled even wider before biting her lip as she began imagining herself in Margaery's position. Oh god, he definitely went too far with his description!

She almost lost herself completely in lust, but fortunately for Lyonel, she was able to regain her senses. Gods, he felt violated and humiliated having to do this, and extremely uncomfortable. He would have to scrub himself clean after this. "D-does Robb Stark know of Tywin Lannister's forces?"

She almost screamed when he suddenly threw her to the ground on her stomach and placed himself on her, and unbeknownst to her his hands went to the blade in his wrist before silently pulling it out. He placed his hand tight over her mouth and she began to panic, until he leaned in to nip at her ear, exciting her even more. He liked to do it roughly, she thought. He slowly began to whisper in her ear, "My gratitude. For revealing what my grandfather wished to know."

Her eyes widened before his knife suddenly and swiftly opened her throat. He quickly removed his hand as to not get any blood on him. He stood up and placed his foot on her upper back so she wouldn't flail around too much as she gargled, her hands desperately grasping at her bloody throat. He unfeelingly stared at her pathetically trying to stop the bleeding before his calculating eyes began scanning his surroundings for any witnesses. Once she stopped moving under his foot, he looked back and removed it before dragging her corpse farther into the forest with ease.

 **Now**

He wasn't lying when he said he was grateful for her revealing what Tywin wanted. Now he knew what he and others should be careful to speak of. And Tywin wouldn't suspect that Lyonel knows, as whores are often murdered, even in military camps. Some soldiers might have… _different_ urges that he does not wish for anyone to know of. Disposing of a whore would keep that secret.

He removed the whore and her murder from his mind as his eyes scanned around the campfire again as he recounted who was with him.

Samwell was absent. He had no desire to join them, understandably. One of the Tyrell's most powerful vassals was none other than his own father, Randyll Tarly and there was no doubt that he'd be present. Lady Catelyn hadn't changed her mind about representing The Starks during the negotiations, but she was far less ecstatic to do so now after Lyonel's scolding. She decided instead to stay in her own tent than to be near him and Jon.

But he didn't care if she liked him or not. As long as Arya did.

 _Kill them all…_

Her words echoed in his head hauntingly. His fear that she would turn so dark and hateful terrified him. Thankfully, paranoia had settled in his mind, and so poisoned him with paranoid thoughts. He had feared his influence on her had corrupted her, when she only wished for her family's safe return.

 _I will…_

He had answered in his head every time he heard the words returning.

What confused him about her words were not the words themselves. It was how they kept returning in his head. He… missed her. Dearly so. They had just reconciled and put their differences aside and they could both go back to normal. Well, not normal, they were far from so. But they went back to being close friends. He wishes he'd brought her along. But he wasn't going to endanger her just because _he_ doesn't want to be alone. Still. He missed her just as much as he missed his siblings. She really was one of a kind to make him feel that way.

"So that's the end of it?"

Lyonel turned his head slowly to look at Jon. "It is." He nodded, relief in his eyes. Lyonel turned back to the embers, "Don't blame yourself. You did nothing wrong."

He said nothing in response. Silence reigned for almost a minute until he could no longer wait. He stood and walked over to the prince before sitting down on the log he was leaning against. "Have you… heard of my mother before?"

The prince's head quickly snapped towards Jon, his eyes hard, and brows furrowed in confusion. "Where did that come from?"

Jon looked somewhat sheepish as he realized his unusual bluntness. "I realize it's a bit sudden but… It's just… Did anyone know her, besides my father?"

He looked forward, "I've heard of her about as much as the next man."

"And what has the next man heard of her?"

He brought the waterskin to his lips and poured. He placed his arm at his side again before sighing silently. "Only that her brother was The Sword of The Morning."

' _I also know that none haunts my mind as much as your mother does._ ' The name _Ashara_ would be whispered with a dying man's breath in Lyonel's head every night he dreamed. The final breath of an honourable man, a foolish man; that echoed in his head.

An ever-returning reminder of his failure.

Jon seemed disappointed by his answer. But what was Lyonel to do? He knew nothing of the woman. He knew only how she affected you even after her death.

"Ashara?"

They both turned their heads back to see a surprised Ser Barristan. They saw the regret in his eyes.

"Do you know of her, Ser?" Jon asked with wide eyes.

He nodded slowly, "Aye, I know her. She was the one who took my heart the moment I saw her smile."

Even Lyonel couldn't keep the surprise out of his face. He realized the meaning of his words. "You were infatuated with her." His voice was low.

He nodded before moving to sit down on the log next to the one Jon sat on. He stared at Jon, as if recognizing something. "You're her son?"

Jon nodded slowly, "Aye. Her bastard born."

Barristan scoffed, "So it _was_ Eddard Stark who took her during the tourney. I always surmised she'd a stillborn daughter." He stared into the fire, his deepest regrets resurfacing from the dark corner of his mind he'd once tried to lock it away in. "Rhaegar had chosen Lyanna Stark at Lord Whent's Tourney. Had I won I would have chosen differently. Not the queen, or Elia of Dorne, as beautiful and kind as they both were. Yet both of their beauties together could not even hope to compare to Ashara Dayne. Even after all these years I can still see her smile and hear her laughter."

The two young men stared at the reminiscing knight in shock as Jon could barely speak, "M-my father… told me I had my mother's laughter… before he died."

"Then I pray your laughter will not haunt your love long after your death as your mother's did."

"What…." He hesitated. "…What did she look like?"

The old man smiled, "She was tall. Long dark hair bounced off her shoulders as she walked. Her violet eyes were as haunting as Harrenhal's ghosts."

"Like amethysts," Jon stated.

He met the young teenager's eyes, his own illustrating his surprise and reminiscence. He nodded slowly in agreement. "Yes. Did your father tell you that as well?" Jon nodded. "Your mother was the kindest woman I knew. Full with empathy, more than any other I'd heard of. She was proud, but not arrogant. Wilful, but not stubborn. She was no Lady Arya, but she was braver than even most men. She always had a certain… confidence about her. She never backed down when it came to defending someone if she thought it the right thing to do. Yet she knew when to be polite and courteous, for she was no fool. Had she been alive, your sister might have held ladies in a higher regard." Jon and Lyonel smiled. With the way he was describing the woman, Arya would no doubt have admired her if she still drew breath. "Did your father truly not tell you of her at all? In all of your years?"

He shook his head in response, small resentment leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "No. Tell me, Ser Barristan, did my mother know your feelings for her?"

Selmy sighed, regret evident in his eyes, "Alas, I did not declare my love for her. It makes me wonder if anything would have been different had I confessed my feelings for her."

Jon stared at him with sympathy. Lyonel wouldn't know how it felt, so he settled for being the way he always was. Logical. "You were of the Kingsguard. No good could have come from telling your feelings for her."

Jon turned his head to glare at him for his callousness, but Ser Barristan smiled. He knew that was as close to sympathy as Lyonel could get when not knowing how to comfort someone. He was not to blame. "No good had come from silence either," the knight argued. "I ponder every night, if I had unhorsed Rhaegar Targaryen and crowned Ashara as Queen of Love And Beauty, would she have looked to me in place of your father? Would she still be alive?" Out of all of Barristan's failures and mistakes, none haunted him as much as that.

Jon didn't know what to say. Ser Barristan Selmy himself had loved his mother, her death haunts him to this very day. How do you comfort someone of that pain? In place of words, he settled for a gesture by laying his hand on the knight's shoulder, a sign of respect and comfort. Barristan stared at him in surprise before nodding in gratitude at the gesture.

"For what it's worth, Ser Barristan… Had my mother known your feelings for her, father wouldn't have stood a chance."

Both of them laughed quietly at the jest, Lyonel remained stone-like in his expressions yet hid his small amusement. He gazed into the fire as they calmed down, Jon removing his hand before the three sat there in comfortable silence. Lyonel's own mind wandered back to his family. His uncles, Tyrion and Stannis, Tommen and Myrcella, Shireen, Garrett.

Arya.

He missed them all. But there were a few small comforts in his current company that could keep his mind off them. Some who did not even know their true value to the prince. Jon was one of them. But he must have known, no? After all, Lyonel hunted down the men that attacked him. He did it for Myrcella and Arya, but Jon did not know that. And despite the reason for Lyonel doing what he did, it did not change the fact that he felt responsible for Jon. And that on some levels, he felt connected. But Jon probably knows he means more than a simple sworn shield to Lyonel. Of course he does.

Lyonel, feeling confident on the matter, shifted to another subject. Ser Barristan was another one of the comforts, being a true grandfather in place of Tywin. Gods, even thinking of the man's name infuriated him. What he did to poor Uncle Tyrion when the man was no more than four and ten. Tysha. That was the girl's name. Tyrion believed whatever his grandfather had told him about her. A whore, hired to make him a man.

But Lyonel was no fool. Some things did not make sense, things Tyrion remembered of his time with Tysha. Things that a whore wouldn't do or say.

Suddenly, Catelyn appeared and Lyonel was snapped out of deep thought.

"Your grace," her cold tone said.

He turned his head behind to see her standing with the elegance expected of a lady, her hands gripped together. "Lady Stark."

"I would trade words in my tent. Privately."

He stared before standing up, dusting his trousers, and walking over the log to follow her to her tent. Along the way, a few guards greeted, their only response being a curt nod from him. As Catelyn arrived, she gestured the guards away before they entered. She sat down and met his gaze.

Before she could speak, Lyonel started. "I apologize. I regret what I said."

She was taken aback, surprised by the sudden apology. Her surprise dissipated and was replaced by anger. "Do you truly, your grace?" He nodded. "You seemed sure of yourself when you defended the bastard."

"I don't apologize for defending him. I apologize for dishonesty."

"Dishonesty?"

He nodded. "My words were spoken in the defence of Jon. But my heart conveyed hatred for my mother."

Her eyes widened. "What does Cersei have to do with any of this?"

He looked at the ground before meeting her eyes again. If he was to apologize, he should look her in the eyes and do it. "All the hatred I bore my mother I spat at you. I claimed to do it in a helpless bastard's defence. That claim couldn't have been farther from the truth. I took out all my anger on you. You deserved better. I hope you can forgive me."

Catelyn stared with an unreadable expression. "I know how easy it is to take it out on someone who doesn't deserve it. I forgive you."

He nodded, understanding the meaning behind what she said. "I… I also have a request."

"Speak it, your grace."

He sighed before opening his mouth hesitantly. "…Give him a chance."

Her brows furrowed in confusion, "I don't understand."

"Jon."

Her eyes widened once more before her previous anger revolved back. "Is this a cruel jest!?"

He raised his voice, but unlike her it was not out of wroth. "Listen to me!"

She stood up from her seat and glared, "Why should I?"

"Because he deserves it. I understand how hard it must be-"

"No, you don't understand! I loved and feared Brandon! I loved the stories they told of his fierceness, and I feared that he would lay with another woman after we'd wed. After he was murdered, I was married off to his younger brother. I was told by everyone, my father, Lysa, even all the servants that Eddard Stark, the honourable lord, wouldn't dare sully his dignity with a bastard! I was finally certain that what I feared with Brandon, I wouldn't have to fear with Ned. Do you know how it feels like to finally feel the relief when your husband comes back from war after years of not knowing if you're going to see him again and leave you alone with your single child? Only for him to return with a child of his own and claim it as his bastard born? The humiliation I felt was crushing!"

She turned away from him. "You're taking out your anger on someone who doesn't deserve it, you know this! Eddard couldn't have known what would happen to his brother, Lady Stark! He met Ashara long before you!"

She turned around to face him. "I understand that he loved another woman, we were strangers during the time he met Ashara Dayne. But to bring a bastard home when it could have survived with its family in Starfall? Every time I saw that babe lying in the crib, it was a cruel reminder of how my expectations and dignity was crushed, reminded of the humiliation and the stain on my honour! I tried already, to give him a chance, but I couldn't! I hated him!"

Lyonel closed his eyes and sighed in frustration as he placed his palms over his face, turning around.

"Why do you even care for a simple bastard!?" He repressed a groan of frustration as his hands fell from his face and to his sides, his eyes gazing at the top of the tent. "I simply cannot fathom your thoughts, your grace! You say one thing yet do another! You claim to not care for him yet you defend him! Why!?"

Lyonel finally snapped, tired of everyone asking the question and tired of giving the same lie as an answer.

He turned around in the blink of an eye and shouted, "SO THAT HE DOESN'T TURN INTO ME!" Catelyn was taken aback in shock, unable to speak.

His furious expression fell slowly as he realized what he said. He let out a scoff before his hands covered his face in frustration at himself. He stared at the ground in silence before removing his hands and rubbing his neck. "I-I didn't… I didn't mean to say that… I-It wasn't… It wasn't intentional- Shit…" He sighed out suddenly, knowing he wasn't lying his way from this as he placed his forehead on the palm of his hand.

Catelyn stood up slowly before gently helping Lyonel stand up. She brought another seat and placed it in front of her own and sat down. But he had no desire to sit, so he stood. As he stared at the ground, a few strands of his pitch black hair hung above his right eyebrow, and Catelyn leaned her hand up and brushed it aside before speaking in a comforting voice, "Lyonel, speak to me. What was that about?"

His eyes lingered on the ground, his voice as quiet as the calm wind. "People… People always ask me why I care for him. I either respond with saying that I do it for Arya or that he reminds me of how my Uncle Tyrion was treated. The truth is not as simple. They may be true reasons, in some ways, but they're not the only ones. The truth of the matter is… I look at him and I'm reminded of myself. A boy absent of a mother's love and affection. I look at him and I fear that he will turn into me. He's my responsibility, he can't be reduced into me. I don't want him to be without integrity and honour. To be able to murder someone without feeling a single thing. The last thing this world needs is another monster like me."

Catelyn's eyes widened and she gasped. "Your grace, how can you speak that way of yourself?"

A humourless chuckle rumbled from his chest and past his lips, "Other than that I could take a father away from his children and wife with an unhesitant swing of my blade and not even think about him again?" He began laughing, placing his hands on the back of his head, yet it was no more than an attempt to hide his uncertainty and nervousness. "Because I've gone fucking mad…"

Her face blanked in shock, "What?"

His laughter died out, as did his false smile, and he could barely meet her eyes. His arms fell to his sides. "I… I hear voices… Telling me to do things that are wrong. As if I couldn't do that perfectly well by myself."

"V-voices?" Catelyn asked, fear in her eyes. Whether it was fear for herself or for him, he couldn't tell.

He stared at the ground in front of him. "They started after… After Eddard died. They began only as whispers. Then they gradually became worse."

She soon began to realize how much her husband's death had affected others outside of her family. The very madness caused by his demise seemed to falter even the steadfast composure so native to the prince, his fear manifesting in his eyes, yet thankfully meagrely so. "And what are they like now?"

He stared, the memory of the dread that overcame him as they shouted and screamed in his head eliciting from his mind. "I fear that… that they'll become too much and in the end, I'll do something I'll regret." She stared at him in silence. No words slipped past her lips, but he knew what thoughts transpired in her head. "You're the first person I spoke of this to. And I… I understand if you wouldn't wish Arya to be my betrothed any longer. I know that I wouldn't wish to hurt her."

"That is not for me to decide. That is Arya's choice." He slowly lifted his gaze to level with hers, veiling his surprise with a blank face. Did she finally give Arya her own choice in a matter? "Surprised?" She smiled a genuine smile. "I've learned something I should've learned a long time ago. You can't tame a direwolf. Don't bother trying."

He wanted to smile, but it would have to be an untrue smile. He would lie to her no longer, no more deceit. Not with her. He instead nodded in agreement, "Indeed." He was thankful that despite not wanting to be vilified, she also didn't pity him.

"I will help you," she said, changing the subject.

"How?" he asked.

"To the best of my ability. We may not be on the best of terms, but we can be. We are to be family after all. Family, Duty, Honour. But that won't be enough. When you meet her again, confess to Arya. She deserves to know."

He nodded slowly. "Will you give him a chance?" She frowned and closed her eyes. "Please?" He pleaded, yet kept his voice firm, prompting her to look at him in surprise. She never realized how important it was to him. "Don't let him become another Lyonel Baratheon. Let go of your hatred and give him the love and affection of a mother that he deserves. It will be better for the both of you, not just him. At least, try! No matter how hard it becomes, keep trying! Don't give up because it becomes difficult. I will aid you just the way you'll aid me. To the best of my ability. It won't be easy, I know that. You don't even have to be a mother to him. Just be decent at least. Don't be Cersei Lannister."

The conflict she felt internally was reflected on her face, yet was replaced by surprise and realization when she heard the last part. "If not for me, then for Arya. I gave up my anger towards you for her sake. Do the same towards Jon for her."

She said nothing, her eyes closed. Not a single word was spoken between them for what felt like an eternity. The night breeze flew into the tent, breathing cold air into the dead silent room.

She finally broke the silence, "I'll try. For Arya _and_ you." She was indebted to him for saving Bran's life. If this was the only way to balance their debts towards each other then so be it. His eyes widened. She opened her eyes and nodded slowly. She seemed to have a difficult time simply saying the words. "I'll try. But I can't promise anything."

He breathed out in relief before immediately embracing her. "Thank you," he whispered as he laid his head on a surprised Catelyn's shoulders before pulling away.

Catelyn was still visibly hesitant. He knew how hard it must have been to agree to his request. Yet she did it. "Choose love over hatred, Lady Stark. I know it won't happen overnight. It will take time. I understand that it has been years of contempt and hatred. But you may be surprised by how forgiving Jon can be at times."

Her eyes lingered on him in silence for a couple of seconds before saying, "I will."

He whispered, "Thank you," relief in his voice. "It's a heavy burden I've shared with you. I always saw it as a duty for me to make sure he doesn't become me. I realize it's selfish to ask this of you, yet you accepted. I won't forget it anytime soon."

"You saved Bran's life. Consider this repaying the debt."

Lyonel never knew she felt indebted to him, since that was far from the reason he saved Bran. Not that he minded of course.

He nodded slowly, their eyes locked as he stood up. "I… I must return to Jon and Barristan."

"I won't keep you, your grace. But if you ever need an ear to listen, I'll be here. If you ever need to speak of… the voices."

His voice was strong yet quiet as he said, "My gratitude," before making his way to outside.

And for the first time, he could think of Jon without worrying of what might become of him.

* * *

 **Garrett**

Garrett observed the high walls that hid most of the buildings of Qarth. He stood next to Daenerys' right, and Jorah stood at her other side. Behind them were the small group of survivors. Among them Rakharo, and his wounded pride at not being further in front to guard Dany as a warrior should. His wounds had healed well enough, yet not enough to completely close them. And that's not to mention that aches are most prominent during recovery, and his pains prevented him from fighting effectively.

To his side stood Lyarra, who'd volunteered to keep an eye on the dothraki to prevent him from doing anything rash that may result in the opening of his wounds. As she tended to his wounds, they became acquainted with one another. They were not friends, but were well on their way, Garrett believed.

Garrett's attention diverted to the gates as they opened. Soon, a detachment of qartheen spearmen began marching towards them. He noticed they were on a more defensive stance, their spears pointing up instead of at them. They had no intention of killing them, he realized. They soon formed a wall in front of them, their large shields held to their chests.

"Not the greeting I expected," Dany commented beside to Jorah.

"Would you have reacted differently if you had a Dothraki horde approaching your walls?"

"I'd hardly call this a horde." Garrett commented, glancing backwards.

Jorah did not respond, only glancing at him before both of their attentions were directed to thirteen qartheen nobles walking out of the gate. They strode forward and all but one, who walked past the opening in the guards' line, stopped. The man was fat and plump, and walked a bit awkwardly. He stopped a few meters from the guards.

The silence was broken by Daenerys, as she called out, "My name is Daenerys-"

"-Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen," the fat man finished for her with a smile on his lips, his hands on his plump belly.

Her voice carried a hint of surprise. "You know me, my lord?"

"Only by reputation, Khaleesi. And I'm no lord, simply a humble merchant." Garrett stared at the man in silence. "They call you 'The Mother of Dragons'."

"And what should I call you?" She asked with a smile on her face.

"Oh, my name is quite long and quite impossible for foreigners to pronounce. I am simply a trader of spices." He turned around, motioning his hands towards the others standing behind the guards. "But _we_ are The Thirteen. Charged with the governance and protection of Qarth, the greatest city that ever was or will be," he finished with a pleased smile.

Garrett raised his eyebrows with a deadpan look on his face as he stared forward blankly. ' _Humble, the man says._ '

Daenerys began, "The beauty of Quarth is-"

"Qarth," the merchant corrected rather rudely.

She hid her embarrassment, "…Qarth…"

"Might we see the dragons?"

She turned around and looked at the three small crates where she'd put her dragons in before turning back. "My… friend. We have travelled far. We have no food, and no water. Once I see my people fed I would be honoured to-"

Once again, the man rudely interrupted, causing a small scowl, almost unnoticeable, to appear on Garrett's face. "Forgive me, Mother of Dragons. But no man alive has seen a living dragon." He glanced at the rest of The Thirteen behind him before turning back. "Some of my more sceptical friends refuse to believe your… children… even exist. All we ask is a chance to see for ourselves."

A false smile appeared on her face, hiding her offence. Yet her voice did not. "I am not a liar."

The merchant flashed a friendly smile, "Oh, I don't think you are. But as I've never met you before, my opinion on the matter is of limited value."

"Where I come from, guests are treated with respect," she said as she glanced at the guards before continuing, "not insulted at the gates."

"Then perhaps you should return to where you come from." He smiled as he turned around, "We wish you well." He began walking away, and Daenerys marched forward, prompting Jorah and Garrett to follow.

"What are you doing?" She demanded. "You promised to receive me."

They all stopped when the merchant turned around, "We have received you. Here we are, and here you are."

"If you do not let us in, we will all die."

"Which we shall deeply regret. But Qarth did not become the greatest city that ever was or will be by letting dothraki savages through its gates!"

He bowed his head slightly before again turning around and walking away. Before either Garrett or Jorah could caution her, she strode forward until the soldiers got into a defensive stance. "Thirteen!" she called out.

They all turned around to hear her words, "When my dragons are grown, we shall take back what was stolen from me!" Garrett repressed the urge to scoff, and kept staring. "And destroy those who wronged me! We will lay waste to armies and burn cities to the ground! Turn us away and we will burn-" Garrett stopped her as he gripped her arm and stood in front of her. She had a look of surprise on her face as she began to glare at him. But he would not have it. She was acting the part of a rash and arrogant child. He would not allow her pride to be the death of them.

"Careful, khaleesi."

"You would have us be looked down upon and turned away, to be left to die in the red wastes!?"

He scowled, "I would have us use our heads. You say you do not wish to be looked down upon, but your actions speak louder than your words. You wish to be looked up upon, as if you rule any ground you walk. Your arrogance will have us all killed. Do not pretend as if you would not do the same as these merchants if someone such as you came to your walls and threatened to burn you and yours if you did not grant entrance! You must learn tact and humility if you are to survive, and that's not to mention what it takes to rule over anyone! Your house's name does not elevate you above everyone else!"

She kept glaring at him, but did not retort. She had nothing, yet her pride refused to allow her to admit defeat. He sighed as his features softened. "I don't want to see you die of heat and starvation simply because of your pride. I tell you this for _your_ sake." Her own features mellowed. "Observe," Garrett said suddenly. He turned around and faced the plump man, "Merchant of Qarth! I wish to bring you an offer!"

The man looked intrigued and took a few steps forward, "And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

"Ser Garrett of House Penrose, son of Edric Penrose, 'The Stag's Bastion'!"

A smile crept up to his lips, "Ah, the man who singlehandedly saved the brother of The Usurper, Renly Baratheon, correct? Does your khaleesi know of this fact?"

"Aye, trader of spices. I have told her already, and yet she has not demanded my head, for she is just!"

The man looked sceptical, his eyes observing the knight. His gaze finally stopped at Garrett's eyes. "Hm. As you wish, son of Edric. Bring forth your offer."

Garrett slowly stepped forward, "You say you are a merchant! Yet you demand from us without the promise of anything in return!"

He frowned, "I would grant you entrance if you had simply shown us the dragons. And I am a trader of spices."

"But a trader nonetheless! If you had diamonds in great abundance, more than you could ever need, would you not trade it?!"

He stared in silence before conceding with a nod. "As you wish. But my point still stands. I would grant you entrance for a simple glance of her dragons."

"Except you did not make that offer a single time! You demanded to see the dragons without offering anything! That is not becoming of a noble merchant!"

"You would insult my integrity?" The man asked, but not angrily, rather with genuine curiosity.

"Of course not! Everyone makes mistakes, for that is the nature of Man to do so! But since you did not make a trade offer, _I_ will! I offer to show you the dragons if you first grant us entrance to your city! It is a simple trade offer! And it will in no way harm your reputation! If anything, it will have your people view you as merciful and kind! Let us be honest, what you fear if you let us in is nothing other than your name being harmed! This offer will absolve us all of our troubles and bring only prestige to your name!"

The merchant stared at him, his eyes revealing how impressed he truly was by Garrett's diplomacy. But he would not be fooled, his name would be ruined if he allowed them to enter after Daenerys' threats. However, before he could respond, another man from The Thirteen stepped forward, his skin ebony. "Retreating in fear from a little girl is unbecoming of the greatest city that ever was or will be."

He turned to face him, voice angered and stern "The discussion is over, Xaro Xhoan Daxos. The Thirteen have spoken."

"I am one of The Thirteen. And I am still speaking."

He looked back at Dany before motioning towards her with his hand, "The girl threatens to burn our city down and you would invite her in for a cup of wine?"

Xaro smiled, "She is the Mother of Dragons. Do you expect her to watch her people starve without breathing fire? I believe we can allow a few Dothrakis in without dooming our city."

Garrett and Dany glanced at each other. Hers showed her surprise, but Garrett hid his suspicion. The trader of spices made no indication that he would refuse their entry to the city, he looked as if he was considering his offer. How did Xaro know and _why_ did he step forward? Unless it was to capitalize on the opportunity to gain her favour.

"After all, here I am. A savage from the Summer Isles, and Qarth still stands."

"Our decision is final," he responded.

Xaro stepped forward, in front of the Spice King. "Very well. I invoke Soumai!" He gripped the dagger on his side before unsheathing it and clenching his other hand around the blade. "I will vouch for her, her people and her dragons, in accordance with the law." He pulled the large knife upwards, slicing the palm of his hands before holding it on front of the rest of The Thirteen, displaying the bleeding wound.

The Spice King glared at him, "Be it on your head!" before marching off towards the gate. Xaro looked to the side, staring at Daenerys before motioning towards the gate as it opened to reveal the bustling city inside.

"Welcome to Qarth, my lady."

* * *

 **Lyonel**

The sea breeze brushed against the hull of the ship, curving upwards and sweeping over the deck. Lyonel stood at the bow of the ship, staring out into the sea with his hands on the railing as he enjoyed the refreshing caress of the winds against his face, the air brushing his hair upwards gently. The ship was quiet other than the sound of the crew running around, something that couldn't be said for the one following them that carried the soldiers of his detachment. He played ignorant to their staring and judging of a prince they'd heard so much about. Lyonel heard footsteps against the wooden planks getting closer and closer to him until it ceased behind him. He glanced backwards and could see the bothered look on Jon as he stared at the prince.

Lyonel's blank face did not betray his confusion and he turned around with crossed arms, "Ghost?"

Jon looked confused at first before becoming aware of his meaning, "Probably in the lower deck, eating all the cargo."

The corner of his lips twitched upwards, lingering shortly before falling into neutrality as he asked, "What vexes you?"

"Did you put her up to this, your grace?" He remained silent and staring, clearly hinting for Jon to elaborate. "I appreciate that you stood up for me, believe me. But I won't have her falsely respect me if she can't look me in the eyes to apologize! I won't accept feigned courtesies simply because you commanded her!"

' _Ah, he speaks of Catelyn,_ ' he realized.

Jon shook his head before facing him again, "I notice how she can't even stand close to me without being so uncomfortable I'd have thought she'd jump into the water simply to escape the bloody tension! She can't even look in my direction! Please, do not force her if she can't mean what she says to me. It's worse than unveiled hatred."

"Perhaps you should begin interacting with her. You might be surprised by how much she tries."

Jon frowned, unable to contain his anger, "But I don't want her to try because _you_ forced her to, your grace!"

Lyonel looked forward, scoffing through his nose as he shook his head slightly.

This served only to anger his sworn sword, "I'm sorry, Lyonel, but you told me to stand up for what I believe is right, and I'm telling you that this isn't-"

"I didn't command her," he interrupted suddenly, calmly. Jon froze in shock at what he heard, staring for a good while and trying to understand if he heard correctly.

"What…?"

Lyonel met his eyes, "I _requested_ she try and mend your relationship with her. She said she'd do it as repayment for me saving Bran. I hadn't even known she felt indebted to me. _She_ brought up the subject of Bran."

Jon gaped in disbelief, "She… She did it willingly?"

He did not answer the question, as she was far from willing but knew she was obligated to try. "She's trying, Jon. She truly is."

The bastard scoffed, turning around and placing his hands on the railing behind him. He shook his head as he stared out, and after a few seconds, he began to speak. "I overheard a conversation between my father and Lady Stark the day we left Winterfell. Something I wasn't supposed to hear."

Lyonel's gaze was fixed to Jon, his voice sounding neutral as he inquired, "What?"

Jon hesitated to speak before a humourless chuckle passed his lips as he shook his head, "She said if you hadn't given me a position as your sworn shield, she'd have thrown me out of Winterfell the moment my father would've left with the king."

Lyonel was not surprised, but he did not know how to respond to that or placate Jon in any way. The woman genuinely _hated_ Jon, wishing nothing but harm upon him. There was no way he could convince even himself that wasn't true. But a realization dawned on him, one that held value and good meaning despite the bitterness between Jon and Catelyn, "And yet she's trying, despite all of that…"

The sworn shield stared before nodding slowly, turning to face him again, "And yet she's trying… despite all of that…"

Lyonel gave a curt nod towards Catelyn, who stood at the other end of the ship with Ser Barristan, "Go to them and stay there. Conversation is not urgent, a simple greeting will suffice. I know this is years of hatred you're working on abating, it will not be accomplished in a few days' time. Years of hatred may very well take years to compensate for. But one has to start somewhere."

Jon stared towards her directions, his finger anxiously tapping against the pommel of his sword before nodding, "Alright." Wanting nothing more than to get it over with, Jon quickly made his way to them and remained there. Lyonel could not hear them, but saw Jon speak, and Catelyn acknowledge it. If she did it with a greeting as well or a nod, he couldn't tell. He could do no more for either of them currently, so he turned back, once again placing his hands on the railing.

* * *

Placing his foot on the pier, Lyonel finally set foot on Dragonstone. He set his other foot parallel before his eyes surveyed his welcome-gathering. Elation struck his chest and a smile graced his features by the sight his gaze showed him. Stannis stood with a rigid back and hands clasped behind it as his stern gaze followed Lyonel's, unwavering, indisputable respect in them. Flanking him was his lady wife, Selyse. Someone Lyonel did not care for, unlike the person standing opposite of side of Stannis. Shireen looked close to rupturing with excitement and joy to see Lyonel once more after what seemed to be an unending absence from each other. Exchanged letters were hardly good substitutes for speaking and bonding in person. To her left stood a man with a firm yet humble posture akin to that of Ser Barristan, with a grey-peppered beard. Ser Davos, Lyonel remembered as he recalled his visits to Dragonstone in his younger years.

Soon, Jon disembarked after the prince, followed by Ser Barristan and Lady Catelyn. The prince had no wish to wait and walked over to the three. As he did, Shireen looked up at her father, almost bouncing with joy. Stannis returned the gaze and stared before conceding a hesitant nod, and Shireen grinned before she lifted hem of her dress and ran towards her cousin. Lyonel grinned as he braced for her rush by spreading his arms and kneeling on one leg, awaiting the imminent embrace. She leaped into his encircling arms with a squeal of joy that elicited an even wider grin from him.

She placed a kiss on his cheek, "I've missed you so, Lyonel!"

"And I, you, Shireen!" he responded, voice reflecting the happiness within. To Jon and Catelyn's surprise, he returned the kiss on her scarred, flaked cheek without any form of hesitation. They both pulled back and locked eyes, smiling widely. "I fear I've been neglecting my duties as a loving cousin these past months and forgotten to send letters."

"I can't blame you, I'm just so happy to see you again!"

"Likewise. How have you been?"

"I think you should greet the rest before I can recount everything that's happened."

"Of course." He leaned in and smiled mischievously, "Silly me." She giggled before he stood up straight as his smile was ousted by a neutral expression. She took his hand and walked with him to her father eagerly. They both loosened their grips on each other's hands as Stannis bowed his head. Lyonel held out his hand and his uncle moved to accept it. To Stannis' surprise, when he clasped his nephew's hand, Lyonel pulled him into an embrace, "I've missed you equally, uncle."

Stannis seemed rather awkward and unwitting with such intimate gestures, yet still deeply appreciated it and slowly returned the embrace. "…Likewise… My king."

Lyonel backed away a step, "Call me by my name if there are no other lords here, uncle. I'm your nephew, not a simple liege."

"A man possessing of deserving renown such as yourself must be called by his respectful title."

He bit his tongue, knowing that attempting to successfully insist on Stannis calling him by his informal title would be as likely as forcing Arya into a dress. If his uncle was more comfortable speaking in a rigid and formal way, so be it. He moved on to Selyse, inclining his head slightly, "My lady."

She bowed her head low, "Your grace."

His gaze landed on Davos, "Ser Davos."

His gesture was identical to Selyse's, "Your grace. You've grown only stronger and taller, it seems."

Lyonel nodded in curt gratitude and soon introduced Lady Catelyn and Jon, and after a few gregarious comments between Lady Stark and Ser Davos, they moved on.

Stannis turned his head towards his most loyal servant, "Ser Davos, take Shireen to her room in the castle and show our guests to theirs. Join me once you have."

"Of course, my lord."

The young girl protested, something her shyness would never let her do before. But this was her favourite cousin whom she hadn't seen for a long time. "But father, I haven't seen Cousin Lyonel for so long!"

Lyonel crouched down to her level, speaking before Stannis had the chance, "Do as your father says and I promise I'll give you your present early."

Excitement crossed her features, "A present?!"

He nodded, his smile returning, "A book I have no doubt you'll love." He leaned in to whisper in her ear, "It has Minotaurs and Griffins."

Her eyes widened, excitement only increasing. She nodded eagerly before taking Davos' hand and walking off with their new guests, leaving the prince and his uncle alone. Lyonel's smile fell and he turned towards him. "Lead the way, uncle."

Stannis nodded and both made their way to the beach and walked with the sand beneath their boots. They soon began to talk, Lyonel initiating, "How have you been, uncle?"

"Lazy," he answered, a small hint of annoyance in his tone. "You've worked diligently to try and save Eddard Stark and planned the next course of action with the current Lord Stark while I've been sitting here in Dragonstone, idling."

"Only because I commanded you, uncle. You are to come with me to this ' _negotiation_ ', if you could call it that, with Renly and the Tyrells."

"They wish only to further their own gains in this war. I do not mean to tell you how you are to command as king, your grace, but the Tyrells must be commanded to swear fealty. Your claim to the throne is absolute." His symbolic scowl appeared, growling voice dripping with resentment. "And Renly has betrayed us, his own family."

Lyonel shook his head slowly, "They're Tyrells, uncle. They've always sought to further their own gains since the day the title of Kings of The Reach was ripped away from the Gardeners by Aegon the Conquerer and handed Lord Paramountcy to the Tyrells. Ambition poisoned their minds once they felt the taste of power and control. And Renly was always selfish. The fool fails to realize he's been seduced by them."

Stannis stopped, causing Lyonel to do the same automatically, and faced his nephew, "I will not allow this insult to go without consequences, your grace. Neither Tyrells nor Renly will be allowed this insolence against you with impunity. This, I promise."

He inclined his head in gratitude, "I am most grateful for your loyalty, and it will never be forgotten. But leave them to me."

They continued walking as Stannis asked, "If I may ask, your grace, what are you planning to do during the negotiation?"

He remained silent for a short period before cryptically answering, "You may ask, but I choose not to answer. I won't risk word of my plans to become common knowledge amongst spies and spymasters. I hope you will not hold it against me."

"Your command is imperative, I would never defy it. Nor would I hold it against you."

"My gratitude." A lengthy silence followed as Lyonel slowly began to recall something from the past few days. "I've heard rumours in my camp. You converted to the Old Gods?"

"Aye, your grace, and so have my men. To the ire of my lady wife and her red woman."

Lyonel continued staring forward, not surprised by his conversion, but rather surprised by the mention of a red woman. He dismissed the matter from his mind however, wishing to stay on the current subject. "Why?" He already knew the answer, yet wished to hear it from him.

"To prove my loyalty to you, your grace. Your gods are my gods, my life and my men's are yours to command."

"I'd never ask such a thing of you. You've already proven your loyalty before."

"To your father, yes, but not you."

He sighed to himself, "I still trust you, it was unnecessary for you to do what you did."

"What's done is done, your grace." Lyonel remained silent, still not particularly happy that Stannis felt such obligations simply because of him. However, he was placated by Stannis' next statement. "If I may, your grace?"

"We speak separated from prying ears, uncle. You may speak whatever comes to mind without asking for permission."

He remained quiet for a short time, "…I did not do it only for you, your grace." Lyonel turned his head to face Stannis, puzzled, and Stannis met his eyes. "The day I saw my father and mother's ship swallowed by Shipbreaker Bay's waters was the day I lost all faith in The Seven. I remembered how hopeless you seemed when The Seven would not answer your prayers. One day, you suddenly pray to the Old Gods, and you were less sullen. You seemed surprised if anything. You're no fanatic or even a worshipping man. But you do believe the Old Gods exist. Perhaps they will answer prayers that the Seven did not."

His eyes looked to the ground in front of him in thoughtfulness, "…The Old Gods did not answer my prayers. But they did acknowledge me, they let me know I was not ignored. I don't worship them, I follow them."

"Is there a difference between worship and following, your grace?"

"Worship is blind faith. But I follow them because they're the most worthy of following, until they prove otherwise. Men would worship cruel gods in hopes of a paradise in afterlife, but I am not one of them." Lyonel knew he was callous and brutal, inhumane. But he'd be damned if he would abandon his standards. He already despised himself enough, but if there was one breed of Man he couldn't stand even more than himself, it'd be men who would debase themselves willingly. Be it through abandoning one's morals or following a cruel god or king, simply in fear.

This was another reason he respected Stannis so. The man was truly unyielding and staunch with his morals. As black and white as they were.

His thoughts were postponed as their promenade was interrupted suddenly when a page appeared, running towards the two. He ran until he finally arrived in front of them, winded. "Y… Your grace, milord… Pieces of a ship's wreckage has washed up on the shore…"

Stannis scowled, "You interrupt us so rudely simply to tell us this?"

He shook his head, nervous. "N-no, milord! There's something in the wreckage you need to see…"

Stannis' gaze lingered on the young man, unnerving him. Lyonel, however, was curious to see what the page spoke of. "Lead the way," He commanded suddenly, surprising Stannis. The page nodded, immediately guiding them to where he ran from. As they followed him, the sky soon began to darken, dark clouds forming above them as Lyonel felt the rain quickly starting to pour from the skies. He looked up slowly and saw as a storm began, provoking thunder from the clouds. He did not know why, but he felt familiar with this storm. As if it reminded him of something. But it was just a storm, one could hardly remember them all. So why did he feel familiar? He dismissed the matter for now and they all walked past the corner of a cliff. Lyonel was surprised by what he saw.

The stern section of what once was a large cargo ship had now dug up the wet sands as the waves washed it up on the shore, its hull charred black.

Parts and fragments of the ship was spread all over the beach, shattered wood, broken planks and splinters peppered the sands. Barrels were smashed open, revealing either food, vegetables or wine, pouring into the crevices of the sands. Several soldiers were investigating the remnants. Lyonel walked and stopped in the middle of all the wreckage. His eyes looked down and picked up a plank, examining it to see the charred, fractal scarring caused in the wood. The ship must have been struck by lightning, what else could cause such a wound? A storm destroyed the ship, he realized. He placed the plank back before freezing. His mind felt something foreign as his eyes seemed to automatically move over the wreckage and to one single surviving cargo, right at the edge of the beach and the water.

A cage, completely unharmed. Yet that was not what caught his attention. Inside the cage lied the corpse of a dead beast, impaled in the belly by a shard of thick wood. He was shocked to realize the animal was not just a lion. Its fur was pitch black, as was its mane. Just like the beast he saw in his dreams. But this one did not sport large fangs as the creature did. Suddenly, all sound began to slowly silence. There was no sound of scurrying men scavenging like vultures through the wreckage or sounds of distant waves crashing against the cliffs and rocks. Only silence, except for one single, faint sound.

A faint and high-pitched yelp emanated softly from the cage. Lyonel heard it once more and began to move towards the cage, the yelps only getting louder and louder. He finally froze in front of the cage and surprise overcame him as he saw a lion cub, fur pitch black just as the one next to it, its size no larger than a newborn kitten. A bizarre thing, seeing as a lion cub was meant to be larger. It too laid down on the ground, the same as the dead one. But this one was still alive, and a small piece of wood impaled its leg. It was not large enough to maim it or permanently injure the muscles, but it did pierce enough to cause some amount of bleeding. It was clear the poor creature was in pain. And no doubt freezing from the small amounts of water washing up against it.

Lyonel swiftly grabbed the cage and attempted to open it, but it stayed shut. He pulled on it, changing nothing, before suddenly rattling the cage. He realized it would not open on its own and stopped. His gaze landed on the rusted lock and crouched down, holding it in his palm as he inspected it for any weaknesses. The task proved apparent, seeing as how the entire thing was rusted and no doubt weakened. The yelps and soft squeals of the wounded cub was all he kept hearing. He removed his hand from the lock, allowing it to hang before he slowly pulled his hand back, clenching it into a fist.

He smashed his knuckles against it, and shattering the locking bar inside and dislocating the padlock shank. His ears rung loudly and lastingly from the echoing sound of metal being smashed. His fist throbbed from a sharp, aching pain and he had no doubt injured his hand. Yet for a reason he himself could not fathom, he was unperturbed by it. He grabbed the remains of the padlock and pulled it off its hinges completely, only the shank left hanging. He soon pushed it out of the hole and was finally able to open the cage. The ringing sound faded and he immediately crouched down on his knees, ignoring the water seeping into his trousers, and saw the poor cub, its whines evoking pity within him. His injured hand unclenched and wandered over it before gently stroking its fur comfortingly.

It was small enough he could no doubt carry it in his palm. He circled his fingers around the large splinter in its leg before his other hand gripped it and pulled it out quickly. It let out a yelp of pain, and soon began to open its eyes. They swiftly found his and he found himself staring back, shocked to see its eyes green and almost glowing. Yet he could see… calmness in them. Lyonel began to feel more and more familiar, and he dropped the large splinter in shock as it fell to the ground.

He almost recoiled in realization. A realization which would've never been envisaged if not for an unknown prod in his mind directing him towards it. This was the Sabre-tooth like creature from his dreams! But it was no dream, he soon began to understand. It was a vision! _He_ was the lion cub lying in the sands injured! The grown creature from his vision was him, the dark blue eyes that at that moment portrayed realization and recognition were _his_ at this very moment! And he was the one who pulled the wood out of its injured leg. And it was the very same storm in his dream that now raged above their heads.

He suddenly heard a loud, lingering howl, and turned his head to see Ghost next to a surprised Jon. His sworn shield looked around at the wreckage with wide, confused eyes. Lyonel suddenly remembered his dream…

* * *

 _Lyonel's line of thought was interrupted as another howl, this one louder and more powerful, almost drawn-out, was heard. Lyonel turned around to see an albino direwolf on the top of a large rock, howling._

' _Ghost?' he thought, and shocked to see that Ghost's howl seemed to shake the very sky itself. His eyes wandered to the background behind Ghost and saw a star falling from the sky, arcing over the direwolf's silhouette. It left a trail of light in its wake, marking the sky with its fire…_

* * *

That is where the dream – no – the vision ended. The falling star was a sign! The falling star of House Dayne!

Lyonel could do nothing but stare, his mind in chaos as the realizations began taking its toll on him. He had visions! Visions of the future and what's to come! But how? Only Targaryens are recorded to have had prophetic dreams.

' _Rhaelle Targaryen was my great grandmother, married to Ormund Baratheon, son of Lyonel the Laughing Storm_ ,' his mind reasoned. But it still did not all fall into place. As Ormund's lineage went on, the Targaryen blood was diluted more and more. His grandfather, father or uncles never had visions, so why was he an exception?

He was broken out of his thoughts as Ghost ran towards Lyonel eagerly, yet to the prince's confusion, the direwolf slowed down and walked past him and into the cage. He turned around swiftly and was further surprised as Ghost nuzzled against the wounded cub gently, licking its wound as it whined sadly. Lyonel stared in shock at the immediate concern he had for the lion cub. Jon snapped him out of his staring as he whispered, "Your grace?"

Lyonel looked up and saw him holding a thin piece of cloth out towards him. He nodded in gratitude and took it before wrapping it around the wounded cub's leg tightly enough to stop the bleeding completely. It whined out in pain, yet was comforted by Ghost's nuzzling and Lyonel's petting.

"I can't tell if it's a kitten or if it's the lion's cub…"

"It's the lion's cub," stated Lyonel suddenly.

Jon asked curiously, "How can you tell?"

Lyonel stared, not having a solid answer to give. "I… can tell, yet know not why… Jon? Bring it to Maester Cressen and tell him to stitch the wound."

"Of course, your grace."

He dug his fingers beneath the cub, fitting it on his palm, and lifted it before he handed it to Jon, who held out both of his palms and held it close to himself, attempting to warm it as it was no doubt freezing. He walked back to the castle quickly, followed by an eager Ghost. A curious sight, Ghost was as likely to get excited as his master, barring anything involving the presence of the Stark children or Lyonel himself. Could he have seen something in the cub Lyonel didn't. Mayhaps it reminded Ghost of someone. Or pure curiosity.

He stood up and stared as they walked away and didn't turn until they were out of sight. When he did, he found himself drawn to the severed stern just as he felt drawn to the cage containing the cub, and made his way to it, wading his boots through the water and did not arrive inside the stern until the water was almost up to his knees. He walked around it until he found himself standing at the massive opening where it had been separated from the rest of the ship. The set of stairs allowed a tilted passage to the deck above. There were no soldiers here currently as none of them were willing to drench their knees until they found everything they could on the dry shore.

Lyonel cautiously walked up the tilted stairs, able to keep his balance by wedging his feet between the steps until he finally arrived at the top. He realized as he looked around that this was the captain's cabin. A sword, bottles, splinters, two chairs and cabinets strewn across the wooden floor, others smashed into the wall, everything in chaos with the exception of the captain's desk in the middle of the cabin. It looked to have not moved an inch, laying perfectly in the middle, unharmed and untouched, as was the intricately engraved seat that belonged to it. The same could not be said for what lay on top of the desk with ink spilled across, marring the contents of a small, opened book laid upon the oaken furniture.

He tread awkwardly and slightly tilted, managing to reach the desk without faltering steps. Perplexed as his hand placed the ink bottle upright, Lyonel's eyes wandered over the desk and halted on the pages of the small book as he walked around the furniture, his feet carefully weaving through the anarchy of broken furniture and other objects. His confusion instigated by the pattern of the splattered, dry ink, the prince's eyes discovered on the corner of the desk ink, yet a small rectangular spot clear in the middle, the same shape as the rectangular bottom of the ink bottle, showed where its previous position had been.

He grew suspicious, eyes narrowing unnoticeably as his intelligent mind analysed the sight in front of him. If the bottle had been knocked over in the storm that shook the ship's other half, then the splatter pattern would've _maybe_ , if unlucky enough, been able to cover the top part of the pages, but not its middle.

' _Perchance it could have fallen diagonally across the pages,_ ' he argued. Yet logic was lacking in that explanation. If that had been the case, the splatter would have gone across the page and desk diagonally, but now it looked to have splattered across evenly and to the sides, not corner to corner.

He shook his head slightly before his furrowed brows of confusion turned into his gentle frown again. ' _I overthink the matter. Why would anyone wish to destroy a book for no reason?_ ' He gripped the small book and turned to scan its front to read the title, and was surprised to see that it was nothing but rough leather and a strap for closing it. He quickly deduced it to be a journal. So perhaps there was a reason to destroy it, but what reason would that be? Save for documentation of one's adventures for future generations to read, he could think no reason soliciting the use of a journal. So why destroy it suddenly?

Lyonel flicked through the pages, finding several pages still drenched in ink. His eyes quickly scanned the pages, searching only to find something that could be comprehended. He found small separate papers in between a few pages, surprisingly undamaged and even found patches of texts written by the captain unharmed. He decided to bring it with him, closing and strapping it shut before looking for anything else of interest. He began opening the desk's drawers, his hands scouring to find anything of interest.

His fingers suddenly clutched a small casket before pulling them out of hiding. His eyes wandered over every inch of it, decorations carved in rosewood, corners engraved in gold. His thumb placed over the latch, Lyonel flicked it open before lifting the lid, eyes widening slightly. A small sheathed knife with the handle seeming to be made of completely natural wood. It hadn't looked carved at all, as if it grew on the blade, the cross-guards protruded from the sides like small, twisting branches.

 _Please…_

His head snapped around suddenly, the same voice from before startling him. He looked around almost frantically, trying to find the source to no avail as nothing but silence touched his ears. Gods, he was getting delusional now. His attention diverted back to the knife before he closed the casket and pocketed it in his tunic, grabbing the journal and slowly making his way back. He walked slowly again down the stairs, as if in a trance, and it was not until he made his way to the shore again that he was broken out by a voice.

"Your grace?" His eyes quickly found Stannis and stared. His uncle stared at him a bit oddly, "I called for you several times, yet you did not answer. Are you well?"

Lyonel nodded, "I am. Forgive me, uncle, I seem a bit tired. It would do for me to rest."

"Of course, your grace. A page will take you to your room, and my men will continue searching through the wreckage for anything of interest." Stannis noticed the book in his hand, only glancing at it before commanding his men to search the stern.

 **Later**

Lyonel now sat on the simple stool in Maester Cressen's office. The Maester was surprised, not having seen the young boy for a long time, and certainly not expecting him to grow as tall and muscular as he did. And Lyonel could see that the old man only grew frailer every day since he last saw him. On the table beside him, the lion's cub slept comfortably on a white quilt from Cressen, so the old man could see it better. He tried first putting it on a black quilt but his old eyes lost the cub, requiring Lyonel's help to see it.

"A curious creature you've brought me, your grace," he said as he arduously attempted to bring his chair to the table. Lyonel quickly stood up and helped him before seating the frail maester down. "Ah, my gratitude. I fear my bad hip only worsens with age."

"What is it that's curious about it, maester?" asked Lyonel as he sat down, his bandaged hand gently stroked the cub's fur.

Cressen leaned forward slightly, fascinated and eager to explain, "The kind young man that brought me the-"

Lyonel interrupted and informed, "Jon."

"Of course. Jon brought me this little… kitten or cub and told me you'd found it in a cage lying next to a lion with pitch black fur. The direwolf would simply not leave its side until his master commanded him to." He nodded in confirmation. "And after a small bit of inspection, I realized that this creature is melanistic!"

He stared at the cub before turning back to Cressen, "I've read of it before, I believe. Is it not a parallel of albinism?"

Cressen nodded with an impressed smile, "Indeed, your grace. But instead of white fur, it sports pitch black fur, darker than the night. Though its eyes are most curious. They seem to be almost glowing, they are very bright and green. Most people believe melanism to be false, especially in a lion. This proves otherwise, and I must send a letter of this to Oldtown. But that's not all." Lyonel began listening intently as he continued to pet the cub. "This creature has every feature of a lion, its facial structure, the proportion of its body, everything points towards a lion. Except for one single thing."

He remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"The size is that of the smallest kitten. Now, at first I thought it to be dwarfism."

Lyonel looked thoughtful, "Dwarfism has been known to affect sheep and other creatures before, but they're extremely rare. And a lion has never been recorded to suffer of dwarfism."

The maester nodded with uncharacteristic eagerness. "Indeed. I've read some books from The Free Cities just to make sure, and none ever mentions a dwarf lion." The prince looked back, uncertain now if what he saw in his _vision_ was truly this creature. But all the other things, Ghost, Jon's mother's house, the wound the cub received, the storm. "But," Cressen said suddenly, catching his attention. "I don't believe this to be a dwarf. If the odds of a melanistic and dwarfish lion aren't low enough to bring about doubt, perhaps this bit of information will. Dwarfism is not evident until a creature grows up. It's not born small, for dwarfism is not a disease affecting size. It's a disease affecting growth."

Lyonel's eyes widened in realization as he looked at the cub.

"Dwarfism affects the growth of the bones, I believe. But the child is always the same size until it grows, no matter what animal. Whether it be Man or Lion."

Confusion riddled his mind as one single question continued vexing him, "So why is it so small?"

Cressen smiled widely, "That is the most exciting prospect, if my suspicion proves to be true. I believe that this lion is a kind never seen before."

His head suddenly shifted towards him in surprise, "What..?"

The maester nodded, "Yes, indeed! I believe that the lion's father bred with a different creature!" His smile fell slightly, "But… unfortunately, until it matures completely, I won't be certain what that creature was."

Lyonel had a very good idea as to what that creature was, but stilled his tongue. "It's a cross breed? A hybrid?"

"Exactly!"

His eyes lingered on the sleeping cub for a while, until he asked, "Maester? Theoretically, if the mother turned out to be a Sabre-toothed Tiger, what would it turn out like in its adult life?"

Cressen looked taken aback by the sudden and random question, "W-well, there are infinite possibilities. It hasn't exactly happened before so I wouldn't know. It will either turn out to be a half abomination in its later life by either sterility, just as Zorses, or disfigurement. Or…" The old man seemed to wander off.

"Or what, maester?"

The smile returned to Cressen's face, this one a toothy grin, "Or it could turn out to be a biological marvel." His grin left his face as he turned to the prince, "But Sabre-toothed Tigers are myths, your grace."

Lyonel nodded slowly, "…I know." It was a lie. He believed them to be real, but would not speak of it. Most people believed melanism to be a myth simply because no one had seen it with their own eyes before. Perhaps the same applies for the Sabre-tooth Tigers.

Cressen suddenly started in recollection, "Ah, before I forget. I found out the cub is a He. Would you like me to keep it for further study, your grace?"

He stared at the tiny cub on the quilt, sleeping peacefully. This was no coincidence. The Old Gods meant for this creature to arrive in Dragonstone when he did. At the same time as Lyonel. "No, it is quite alright, Maester. I will keep him."

The old man seemed disappointed but nodded nonetheless, "I see." His disappointment dissipated quickly with a chuckle, "How odd, your grace."

Lyonel met his eyes, not speaking a word.

"The Starks have their direwolves and now you have your lion. Though you are a Baratheon, so I'd expected you to have a stag. But it seems the Lannister side is strong in you." The prince stared, and Cressen suddenly realized what his words may have implied as he quickly attempted to mend his mistake, "I-I mean no offence, your grace."

"None taken," he said calmly before turning back to the cub. "I will record its progress and send copies of it to you and Oldtown myself."

Cressen smiled, slightly ashamed that he thought Lyonel would be so easily offended and angered. This was a boy he knew before such silly rumours circulated the Seven Kingdoms. He should never have listened to them.

"What will you name it?" asked Cressen after a while out of curiosity.

Lyonel stared, his mind going through several names. After a minute of pondering and contemplating, he finally came to a conclusion.

His lips parted, and a name was chosen.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope this was worth waiting two months (which is most definitely wasn't, but just in case it was, I'm happy for you). I would also like to mention I've started writing in another document in my files of later arcs, some in westeros and the rest when Lyonel and Arya start adventuring. I also cut out a part of this chapter to put it in another chapter instead, so the good news is that I've already written over 1,000 words for the next chapter. Speaking of words, this chapter as another record by over 13,000 words. Most of you probably don't care, but I still like keeping track and I want to keep increasing normal chapter lengths**

 **Next chapter, Lyonel will finally arrive in The Stormlands, and let's just say that a lot is going to happen.**

 **Oh yeah, that part that I cut out will reveal what Lyonel truly found in the wreckage, and everything that he found will have meaning later in the story.**

 **IMPORTANT NOTE** **IMPORTANT NOTE** **IMPORTANT NOTE** **IMPORTANT NOTE** **IMPORTANT NOTE** **IMPORTANT NOTE** **IMPORTANT NOTE** **IMPORTANT NOTE** **:**

 **I already have several names for the cub, but none are too impressive, so if any of you have any good names to suggest, PM me and I'll choose the one I like the most. And of course, credit will be given to the chosen name's original creator, and to the ones who didn't make it. I'll make a list of them with their suggested names next to them.**

 **Another important note is that if anyone knows a good artist on for example DeviantArt who would be willing to do an art/sketch I can send them, please point them to my direction. I have a character in a video game I based Lyonel's appearance off and would like a good sketch of him to show so people would know how he looks like. If in the end, I find no artist then I'll just put up the character from a screenshot on my page. (P.S. the game the character is from is Crusader Kings II)**

 **Reviews:**

 **G27pazhuka: Definitely not, sorry. Not only would it be completely ignore the progress of Lyonel and Arya's relationship by suddenly adding another in there, but it's also a bit juvenile to simply pair them together just because Dany is either hot or a likeable character (at least to some). But they are enemies, and I could never imagine the two (Dany and Lyonel) getting friendly with each other at all. So sorry, but I'm afraid not.**

 **Dragon2013: I appreciate it very much, and am glad that the people aren't out of character as that's one thing I focus on quite a bit when I write. So I'm glad to hear I'm doing it right.**

 **clove25: I'm glad you do, and also glad that you're satisfied with the conclusion of the chapter.**

 **.792: Yeah, I try to not overdo it and make him seem arrogant instead of quiet. Glad it worked out.**

 **Rainsfere: Roose and Ramsay will definitely catch Lyonel's attention in the future. And not necessarily the good kind either, for both of them. *hint* *hint***

 **dragonblade3200: That was kind of my intention when writing Lyonel. I used him to 'fight fire with fire' against asshole characters that a lot of people hate, including myself, admittedly. But one thing about Sandor being burned is that not everything are as they seem, there's a hidden reason why it happened that no one but Sandor himself knows. If that was cryptic, then good, because that was my intention.**

 **elizarocks9902: Glad you like it, and peace.**

 **JaegerCryptic: Very glad I'm not the only one that sees it that way. I was afraid (thanks to my low self-confidence) that I was somehow mucking up the story with what others would perceive as filler. Glad you saw it for what it was. Character development.**

 **nyx'godness: Yeah, she had to put on the Big-Girl gloves and set Lyonel straight. The technique's a bit rough, but effective.**

 **Ghost1017: Lyonel will get his personal sword later when he starts adventuring with Arya and some other characters, but I won't reveal what kind. But it'll be a special one.**

 **Maedre: Not sure what made you think I made him weaker? If you mean the sword fight with Jon, then you should know that he isn't a perfect fighter and that strength is definitely not everything with swordsplay. He's still just as strong, and just as skillful with a sword (which isn't very skillful, he's barely above a normal man-at-arms). Now, if by chance you mean the fist fight, he restrained himself. He didn't want to injure his own soldiers too bad. (Though he slipped and accidentally broke the jaw of one of them)**

 **Heartlessly Awesome: Yeah, well, I most definitely took my time with this chapter, didn't I.**

 **ourlovestory221: I'm happy that your introduction to a Arya Romance story was one you liked. And that was also my intention when I wrote the part where he lost, because I already showed he was flawed as a person and wanted to show that he was flawed as a fighter as well.**

 **And that's all for now, know that I'll try to make up for the time taken by writing extra hard on the next chapter. (Don't worry though, I'll take enough time so it won't be rushed)**


	14. A Lion's End?

He was seated in the brown armchair before the table that pedestaled the book. Lyonel had now examined everything examinable, and found very interesting yet vague content. Many parchments sketched strange drawings, each one tucked between pages in seemingly random order. One of them depicted a knife identical to the one he found, a natural wooden handle, and revealed the blade to be curved like a slithering snake. There were many an illustrations and he had yet to examine them all, only glancing over a few already opened ones to see unfamiliar representations drawn by the captain himself. As if the few he saw had not proved confusing enough, what residue of the now ink-veiled records were out of context, standing as lone words, incomprehensible. The journal entries readable yielded only the captain's personal thoughts on matters not advantageous to the prince's task in discovering his identity.

Lyonel found it odd. He never mentioned his own name, only branding the end of each entry with his initials, ' **G. L.** '. If there was anything interesting aside from the drawings, it would seem the ink had specifically targeted and forever blinded them from the world. If there _was_ anything interesting, they could never be revealed. A great disappointment for the young man. The reason for the disappointment were the fragments of the entries that hadn't been splattered with ink. He would never find out their true meaning.

A few he could currently remember out of one specific page were,

 _ **\- - - - -**_ _ **bathed**_ _ **\- - - - -**_ _ **blood**_ _ **\- - - - -**_ _ **pure**_ _ **\- - - - -**_ _ **hearts - - - - -**_

It could hardly have something to do with the captain's personal thoughts. That is unless the captain regularly mused of blood, purity, hearts, and bathing. (Though the last one was hardly an uncommon thought, seeing how Lyonel longed for the same thing)

However, another page also caught his attention, one he presumed referring to the cub he found.

 _ **\- - - - -**_ _ **Lion**_ _ **\- - - - -**_ _ **too.h- - -ger- -gift- - - -great-nephew L-n-l-**_ _ **\- - - -**_ _ **\- - - - -**_ _ **S-rk**_

This was most confusing. Lyonel believed it portended the captain was bringing either the lion or its cub as a gift for his great-nephew. What followed offered only further confusion. ' _ **L-n-l**_ ' and ' **S-r** _ **k**_ ' could not be made sense of. Lyonel doubted contemplating its meaning would prove fruitful. It could mean anything, the two were far apart. What's to say the captain hadn't changed the subject in the middle of the blotted sentences?

His attention ceased and directed from the page to the opening door of his room. "Jon," He greeted curtly.

"Lyonel," responded the bastard, closing the door behind him. "Your cousin wanted to speak with you."

"Wanted?"

He smiled, "Aye, until she saw the new kitten. She's rather occupied now. Ghost simply won't leave its side. It's as if he's guarding him. I didn't see any bloody assassins sharpening their daggers, can't imagine what Ghost sees that I don't," said Jon with an annoyed tone, caused no doubt by futile attempts at getting said direwolf to follow his master. "Maester…"

"Cressen," Lyonel filled in.

"Aye, Cressen told me it turned out to be the lion's cub. How did you know?" asked Jon with curiosity.

He leaned back from the table, eyes never leaving his sworn shield, "They're both melanistic."

Jon frowned, "They're what?"

"Melanistic."

"I don't believe I've heard of it before."

Lyonel turned back to the book, "I wouldn't have expected you to. Think of it as the opposite to albinism."

"Such a thing exists?"

"Clearly. They're just as rare, if not more."

"Which is most likely why word of one never reached my ears," realized Jon.

"Indeed. I always thought they existed, but never knew with certainty."

He mooned to himself thoughtfully, "But should they not have a certain eye colour, just as albinos?"

"We possess far too vague knowledge to determine if they have a specific colour. There is of course the possibility of green eyes to be a trait consorted with melanism."

"They're not just green, the bloody things look like glowing orbs!" Lyonel's face turned vaguely impassive, boring into Jon's eyes. Jon conceded with a shrug, "Alright, so perhaps I've exaggerated slightly, but my point remains. Those eyes are not normal."

Lyonel continued to stare until concurring, "That, we can agree on."

He heard his sworn shield sigh behind him, "I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. I've seen black fur on cats before, it's hardly unusual. But never so dark. The kitten – or cub – looked identical to the lion, now that I think about it."

Lyonel turned a page, in search for anything of value. But he kept his expectations minimal as previous attempts proved findings barren and useless. "You should never assume things do not exist until you know so. I believe there are things in this world we never could have believed without seeing it with our own eyes." He turned his head to face Jon again, "There are things in this world we do not understand, some which we never could hope to. Simply because we don't know, does not mean it isn't."

Jon's eyes widened slightly, impressed by his words, "That's… a rather good saying. Who said it?"

His brows furrowed in confusion, stating with a tone hinting the obviousness, "I did, just now."

"Oh…" he whispered, embarrassed. "Anything else of interest you can share?"

His eyes lingered before suddenly averting his head to the table. ' _Aye, there is. The truth of my madness_ ,' he thought. He quickly looked back, suddenly anxious, anticipating the truth to only alienate him. The last thing he desired was division, unity was most imperative in a time of war. ' _But could unity be achieved if trust was absent?'_ he contended with himself. Yet Lyonel realized the grievous nature of what he wished to reveal. He told of this to Catelyn, and to his deep surprise, she swore to help him. But Catelyn and Jon were not the same person. And Jon was still young, and hardly experienced in such matters. He wouldn't know what to do with the revelation. He would only be bewildered, dazed.

' _Tell him… Let him know of your weakness, your madness… Show him the truth or forever be a coward…_ '

Lyonel's hand clenched into a fist in frustration, the voices left him with no choice. Whispering or shrieking, they would drive a man mad before the next daylight. They would see him suffer one way or another, either maddened by their endless torment or by the likely loss of a friend. At least the latter admitted some small measure of hope, a chance for a favourable consequence. And so, he arrived at an accord with his madness. He would do as they demanded, knowing full well the repercussions that could come to pass. A dangerous, decaying bridge to cross, unstable and uncertain, and would only grow more so. But he would cross it nonetheless.

His mouth opened slowly to speak.

"What are you reading," Jon unknowingly interrupted, walking over to him and looking over his shoulder.

Lyonel sighed internally in both masked relief and frustration, and leaned back to give Jon a better view of the journal. "It's the captain's journal. I found it in his desk."

Jon looked surprised by the copious amount of ink on it, and that yet there remained anything readable left, "Did you find anything else?"

"I did not give pause to look around."

"But did you find out who the captain is?"

"His initials are 'G, L'."

"I see. Any idea on who it could be?"

He shook his head slowly, "No. It's as if my mind is trying to remember something. But I know not what nor why. The initials could be the name of an essosi for all I know."

"It reminds you of something or someone?" suggested Jon.

Lyonel sighed, leaning his head against a supporting hand, "Perhaps. I yearn for the knowledge of what or who."

Jon peered over what remained fathomable of the ruined journal, "But what about it could have reminded you of something? There's barely anything understandable in the cursed thing." He could only shrug in response. "Maybe the handwriting?"

Lyonel's scanning eyes froze before rearing his head from his open palm and facing Snow, who towered above him as he gazed the page. His eyes lingered studiously.

Jon glanced at him before staring, suddenly uncertain and embarrassed, mistaking Lyonel's look for a look of astonishment at the idiocy at his words. Only Lyonel was able to so effortlessly turn him into a naïve child. Though he supposed he had Lyonel's stern and emotionless stares to thank for that rather than the man himself, "I-it's a possibility, I mean."

"An interesting one at that," muttered Lyonel to his servant's surprise and directing his eyes to the text. He found that Jon was right, the handwriting was indeed familiar. But who it belonged to remained an enigma to the prince. He could not recall. He scoffed, "You're right…"

"I am? I mean… I am?"

Inclining his head with an absent nod, he speculated. Yet it was all for naught as his mind could not bethink any probabilities. Only groundless speculations. He finally conceded, reclining in his seat with a shaking head, "Nothing. I can't remember."

Jon sighed silently in disappointment. "Anything else of note, Lyonel?"

"Only a few odd words. The rest which aren't splattered with ink are the captain's personal thoughts on the mundane." He leaned forward again and flicked back several pages before plucking a folded paper from in between, this one depicting the dagger he found in the red-and-gold casket. " _This_ , however, is of interest."

Jon stared before receiving it and unfolding the parchment. He inspected the detailed drawing, very surprised that it turned out unspoiled by the ink. "It… looks beautiful, I suppose. But why is it of interest?" Beauty hardly interested Lyonel, Jon thought, considering he never bedded any of the maids in King's Landing, despite some's beauty. Though to be fair, neither has Jon. But that was for another reason. A reason with wavy golden hair and an equally golden heart, a small delicate nose and pretty lips. Cheeks identical to a most beautiful queen's, and most important of all: two of the most precious emerald eyes.

He swiftly shook the thoughts from his mind, realizing the reason's brother was in the very same room as he. Though to Jon's relief, he was too busy searching the table drawers to notice his sworn shield's reminiscing, and presumably longing, look.

Lyonel pulled out the red-and-gold casket and opened it, revealing the knife. He clutched the sheathed blade delicately yet firmly and pulled it from the rosewood box, displaying it for Jon, "The very same, it seems."

Jon scoffed in slight disbelief before squinting his eyes, carefully surveying the weapon's hilt. Its intertwining, coiling branches spiralled into a handle and crossguards made of raw wood. The colour of natural umber's adherence on the handle was firm, smooth, and unblemished by foreign colours or scratches or dirt. While there was no rough bark, there was no signs of carvings. No smooth or even surface from a sharp nimble blade held by a dextrous hand required for the level of detail this hilt possessed to make a carving of. He slowly realized that it hadn't been carved after all. "Is… Is that… natural?"

He nodded, "Indeed."

Jon stared, not able to comprehend the possibility. "…How? It's grown perfectly resembling of the handle of a dagger. Even the crossguard."

"I don't know," said Lyonel. Jon shook his head in slight amazement before turning back at the drawing in his hand. While he did, Lyonel slowly unsheathed the blade for the first time, liberating the blade from its leather confinement. His eyes widened from shock. "…Jon..?"

"Yes?" he asked as he glanced at him before quickly doing a double take with widening eyes. The prince unsheathed the blade completely and revealed, in place of a steel blade, more wood. Just like the handle, it had grown completely natural, and formed a snaking blade. The whorl of branches burgeoned into an undulated blade and converged to form a sharp tip, sharp enough to pierce through skin and no doubt flesh. The knife revolved slowly between his fingers, his dark blue eyes regarding the hollowness of the wooden blade meticulously. Its dark crevices between branches revealing nothing inside. Only blackness.

Lyonel slowly stood up from his chair and stood next to Jon, adjoining the dagger and the parchment sketch, comparing them. "They possess the same exact hollowness and carvings in the wood," he pointed out in surprise. "The crevices are exactly the same." There was no doubt it was the dagger in the sketch.

Jon slowly lowered the drawing before facing him with wide eyes, "How many drawings are there exactly?"

"Many." He quickly walked back to the book and flicked through the pages, almost every one containing a paper tucked in between, some folded, some open. "I've only looked at a couple. I planned to look at some more after further examination of the captain's writings."

Jon shook his head in disbelief, "What sort of captain was this?"

He froze, "…I don't know." He slowly began turning the pages again, "But he's certainly not the simple merchant I'd initially surmised him to be."

A long silence fell over the room, only the sound of fluttering pages turning heard. Suddenly, a thought came to Jon's mind, "How do you know it's a man?"

He stayed his hand, "I read his journal."

Jon nodded understandingly. He soon realized the error in Lyonel's answer, "But he wasn't writing in third person, was he?"

The prince ceased his searching again and sighed to himself in minor annoyance, "No." He faced Jon again. "He was not."

"But… then-"

He interrupted, "He wrote conversations he overheard from his crewmen. Some mentioned the captain as a _he_."

Jon could not help the small chuckle, "Isn't that convenient?"

Lyonel's annoyance had faded completely, despite not being as amused as Jon, "Hardly. Had it been convenient, the crewmembers would have mentioned the captain's name." He returned to searching the pages.

"Perchance they did, but he averted to revealing his name in case of the unfortunate event of someone stealing his journal."

"There's also that possibility," concurred the prince. His sworn shield wandered to his side, eyes following the turning pages. His eyes' cease of movement concurred with the page as Lyonel stopped once again. He looked up from the page and stared forward before facing Jon, "But why would he keep his identity a secret?"

Jon raised his shoulders in a shrug, "I don't know. But I doubt it matters to us."

Lyonel said nothing, staring, unconvinced with a nagging notion in the back of his mind, before returning to the journal. They both proceeded to pluck every parchment from the journal and examining them personally. Some were of creatures that Lyonel had only heard of in myths, among them the saber-toothed tiger. Interestingly enough, he found the drawing of the saber in the same page mentioning the lion. Many other drawings were of weapons, and others odd objects with some resembling (Lyonel guessed) relics of sorts. Oddly enough, some drawings were of simple hilts without a blade or crossguards.

He suddenly realized something as he examined a tiger-man, a humanoid creature sporting the striped fur of its namesake and sharp claws and fangs. He looked up from the sketch and called Jon out from his staring. ' _Peculiar,_ ' he thought as Jon seemed to blush when he quickly folded the parchment and faced him, "Y-yes, your grace?"

' _Your grace? Was he not just referring to me as Lyonel not long ago?_ ' he thought, now suspicious. "Hand me the parchment."

"It's nothing, your grace." He sighed shakily as the prince continued to stare with blank eyes. He complied finally and Lyonel unfolded the parchment. Though he did not show it, he was surprised to see the shockingly detailed drawing of a maturely-built woman with skin-coloured-teak. The drawings depicted a front and back-view. Loincloths hung from her shapely hips and a pair of fur boots reached the middle of her lower legs. She wore fur wrapped around her forearm by a rope or string of kinds. Her hands were covered _by_ nothing and instead, her hands covered the hilt of a small stone axe with a sharp stone protruding from the other side. Atop her scalp a bear's head crowned her. Its fur draped across her back, which Lyonel was interested to note was tattooed with the same animal prowling on her upper left back (and was only visible thanks to the fur and hair conveniently moved out of the way). On her front, the fur curved against her breasts and her belly was exposed. Her mouth and nose was, to his surprise, considering the level of detail, not drawn. Her face was featureless, the only thing it sported was bright orange-brown eyes, twin to that of grizzly bears.

He should know. After all, he hunted one. In the North, during their travel to Winterfell. He found himself empty-handed with nothing to do during their stay in Castle Cerwyn. He took up a bow and quiver, and brought along an experienced hunter from the Neck that visited King's Landing, sharing his father's fondness of hunting and shared in his hunts as well. As such he was brought with the royal party. He was capable in the use of what the essosi (he could not remember which language it was specifically) termed as _guerrilla_ tactics, the tactics involving hiding in the shadows and striking swiftly like a spectre before going into hiding once more. In Westeros, they hadn't created a term or name for it, so the few westerosi knowledgeable in the respective language used the foreign term. They struck swiftly, one shooting an arrow with the intent distraction and the other striking with spear to kill. Thanks to Lyonel's skill with the bow, he instantly blinded and killed the beast after the hunter had struck twice from the shadows.

He quickly snapped himself out of his musing and spotted a footnote written in the lower left corner.

" **Ana jy'yni** "

' _Interesting. I will have to consult my books to see if there is a similarity between it and an essosi language._ ' He looked up at the blood-coloured face of his sworn shield, "Is this what you were so focused on?"

Jon only seemed more flustered, "I-I was just about pocket it before you called."

"Why would you pocket it?" He asked with genuine curiosity.

Unknown to him, his blank voice projected only accusation, prompting Jon's eyes to widen as his face looked a tomato, "I-I m-mean, I h-had no i-in-intention on…"

"On..?" Lyonel inquired after a pause.

Jon regained a small measure of his composure back, "I had no intentions on… using the drawing."

"Using?" he questioned, truly confused. But once again, his blank voice projected only accusation to Jon's ears.

Jon sighed at the cruelty of having to say it, "I-I had no intentions on… pleasuring… myself using the drawing."

Lyonel's face quickly conformed to disgust and his eyes to shock, "Seven hells! First of all, that is absolutely repulsive and I'm insulted that you would think I would put thoughts into the subject of you pleasuring yourself…"

Jon was surprised, and rather amazed, that Lyonel hadn't suspected him of doing that, and was further surprised at how naïve to the subject Lyonel was.

"…And second, you look as if to burst into blood from the smallest pin piercing your skin, so _stop blushing,_ and calm yourself! You're almost as bad as your sister!"

When Jon finally did after a good moment's rest, he asked, "Was there anything you wanted to ask?"

Lyonel suddenly remembered the question he'd previously abandoned, "I called out for you to point out that the drawings from the later pages all exhibit more colours from the previous ones."

Jon realized that it was true. The drawings were all fairly detailed, growing only more so the farther in they searched. Though the woman with the bearskin was exceptionally so, they noted. But not all of them were coloured. Some that were had less colour than the ones drawn later into the journal.

"Was… was that all?"

' _No,_ ' thought Lyonel. Originally he thought that they could have identified the path through Essos the captain took. Paint was uncommon in Westeros, only used to paint shields. In Essos, he imagined it was more common, seeing as how Westeros imported a fair bit of it. But even in Essos, only specific cities create paint. With that in mind, and the fact that the drawings were more detailed with each one, Lyonel believed he could determine the path the captain took. Until a question froze his motivation to do so. ' _Why would I?_ ' was the question. ' _Why waste time with a stranger captain while a war rages across the seven kingdoms for me and that cursed crown I must claim as my own?_ '

"Aye, it was. It didn't help with you blushing like a maiden before her deflowering." He blushed again at the comment, though not nearly as much as before. "How did it go with Lady Catelyn?"

Jon almost froze, "I'd say it went better than expected, but that doesn't say much and it would make the truth sound far too optimistic. At least she didn't glare at me this time." He sighed after a pause and rubbed his eyes.

The prince immediately noticed something off about the sigh. It was not of exhaustion, but rather of frustration. "What is it?"

"Forgive me, Lyonel, truly… But what in the seven hells were you thinking?" Lyonel's blank face betrayed not the confusion he felt. He remained quiet as Jon faced at him, "Forgive me for my words, but honestly? What were you thinking? She's literally wished for my death since I was but a babe in my crib, and I've known the fact ever since I can remember. Suddenly you come along and decide we should be best friends and maybe share a cup of wine and gossip like maids, pretend like the years of abuse I suffered from her never happened? I truly respect you, your grace, but… _seven hells_!"

Lyonel said nothing, yet he noticed a glint of nervousness from Jon's eyes. He was doubting Lyonel's words when he told his sworn shield to be truthful no matter what. ' _He yet doubts me,_ ' realized Lyonel. ' _Then it is time to quench all doubts._ ' "Let out all of your anger. No matter what you say, it will not be held against you, nor will it be punished. May the old gods strike me down if my words prove false."

Surprise appeared first on his face, before anger overcame it. His breathing slowly became heavy, "Let out my anger, you say? Fine!" He began to circle the target of his anger. Lyonel held his eyes. It would prove more gratifying for him than if he faced away. "Didn't you think to ask me before attempting something like this? You said it's for my sake and yet you didn't bother to ask _me_ , the one you're trying to help? What do you know of the abuses I suffered from her? Every day I was plagued by her hatred of me. There was not a single day her spiteful words didn't occupy my mind, not a single day I pondered on if I should have spoken against her and standing up for myself for once or if I should have come up with some clever insulting retort or finally yell at her to leave me alone for one second! I had thoughts of beating Robb into a mess of bruises purple and blue! My flesh and blood, my own fucking _brother_! Just to spite that woman, to make sure she sees that her very worst antagonist is superior to her own precious firstborn child! She is _my_ enemy, she treated _me_ like dirt, she threatened to throw _me_ out of my home, not _you_!"

Jon paused to pant and study his liege's face to see any form of offence or anger or annoyance. He found none.

As blank as Selwyn's mirror shield. "You know nothing, Lyonel Baratheon! _Nothing_ of what I suffered, _nothing_ of the resentment I hold against her! _I_ should have been the one to decide whether or not to mend it between us, not some bloody southern stranger who's so self-righteous and thinks himself so important that he decided to push himself into matters that have nothing to do with him! You had no right!"

His chest heaved by the end of his near-furious rant. Lyonel stared, absent any form of human emotion, watching as Jon closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. His gloved hand reached up to rest against his face as he sighed. "Can I trust to not have my head removed?" asked Jon once his hand slipped down his face. Lyonel responded with but a nod. "Can… can I just ask you something?"

"I've not stopped you from calling me a bloody southern stranger who's self-righteous, I won't stop you from asking a simple question."

Jon's cheeks reddened slightly but he continued even so, "Why did you not ask me?"

"Because your opinion on the matter is worth less than the dung under a farmer's boot." He suddenly looked taken aback, speechless. "You are a good person, Jon. Yet you're but a young man who is too easily blinded by his bitterness and resentment. I compromised when I made my peace with Lady Stark for Arya's sake. But it was no sacrifice. It was but a slight burden, if a burden at all…" He paused, almost mentioning the truth of his inner emptiness. It was the void inside that made it easy to compromise. He did not feel resentment as easily as others did, and in fact he felt none against Lady Stark. Though when he very well did it was even less probable of letting go of said resentment, but that was beside the point.

Jon noticed the delay but would never fathom the reason for it. "If you had the choice, you wouldn't do the same. Your rage and bitterness blinds you to anyone's interests but your own, as rage and bitterness is wonts to do. You would not compromise if given the choice, so I took the choice from you. Not only for Arya's sake, but more importantly yours. There may come times when you muse to yourself and you will resent me for doing so, but one day you will learn to realize that I am right."

"No," stated Jon after surprise left his face, replaced with a pondering look. His eyes looked up from the ground and at him, "I _do_ realize you are."

Lyonel's own eyes widened, yet unnoticeably so. "It seems I give you too little credit, Jon. I am glad you can see reason."

A scowl formed on Jon's comely face, "I said I realize you're right, it doesn't mean I'm reasonable. I'm still not happy about being ignored as if I was but a child."

This truly perplexed Lyonel. ' _He realized I am right yet he persists on anger?_ ' He dismissed the question. It was yet another matter of the human emotions he would never begin to even fathom.

They both went back to their piles and continued examining before Lyonel found himself staring at the drawing of a greatsword flanked by its sheath. His eyes lingered not on the blade's jewelled scabbard sporting intricate engravings, but the handle and pommel, having recognized it. With widening eyes, Lyonel suddenly turning to a slump- headed Jon staring down at a parchment, "Jon, bring the journal here immediately!"

The bastard looked up at him in surprise at his sudden haste, quickly doing as commanded and placed the leather journal in Lyonel's waiting hands. The prince immediately opened the book, his fingers quickly flicking through the pages.

"What is it, have you found something?" asked Jon.

He did not respond, suddenly stopping and pointing at a page. His sworn shield looked at the passage:

 _ **\- - - - -**_ _ **Lion**_ _ **\- - - - -**_ _ **too.h- - -ger- -gift- - - -great-nephew L-n-l-**_ _ **\- - - -**_ _ **\- - - - -**_ _ **S-rk**_

Jon stared at it, unable to comprehend the contents. "Am I meant to be able to read that?"

"It speaks of the lion I found dead in the cage, and potentially its cub. I believe whoever this journal belonged to, one of them was intended as a gift to his great-nephew." He pointed to the word, ' _ **L-n-l**_ ' next to ' _great-nephew_ '. "This must be his great-nephew's name."

Jon could not make out the name, "And what name would that be?"

He dragged his finger down the page as his arm returned to his side, "Lyonel." Jon was taken aback by the revelation. The shock left him speechless. Lyonel quickly closed the journal before opening the cover, revealing the first blank page where the captain had written his initials, "Gerion Lannister…" He closed his eyes in brief sadness. Not for the great-uncle he never knew, but for the grief Tyrion would suffer when Lyonel would be the harbinger of his sorrow. Tyrion told him of the kindness he was shown by his own favourite uncle.

Jon's eyes widened, "The captain was a Lannister?"

Lyonel opened his own. "Not just any. He was Tywin's brother. He was last seen in Westeros, journeying to Valyria."

"Did you know him?"

"No… but my uncle did, Tyrion. He loved his Uncle Gerion more than any other."

Jon inclined his head respectfully, "I'm sorry…"

"I must inform my uncle of my findings. I would not have him chase meaningless leads now that we know of the man."

He nodded in agreement, "A good choice. But… why did your great-uncle decide to journey to Valyria?"

He unfolded and smoothed the four-lined parchment against the table and revealed the drawing of a longsword next to its scabbard. The blade had lines and circles resembling ripples, though Jon was not certain as the drawing was the earliest, and the pommel was painted gold and carved to resemble a golden roaring lion's head with ruby set eyes and the crossguard was engraved in the shape of a prowling lion. Its hilt was carved and painted to resemble a lion's fur. He suddenly realized how Lyonel concluded the captain's identity.

The prince's voice began as his gaze roamed over the parchment. "For as long as Lannisters existed, they were endowed a priceless heirloom, the likes of which only few houses possess. Tarly, Corbray. Drumm, Mormont. Stark, Lannister. But it was lost." Jon faced him slowly, astonishment evident.

"Lost? How?"

"A fool's errand. King of The Rock, Tommen, the second of his name, sailed to Valyria, wishing to loot what remained of its wealth and sorcery."

"And he was never heard from again," said Jon easily. It was how most journeys to Valyria ended.

"Precisely."

"So how exactly is your great-uncle involved in this?"

"He sailed to Valyria on a quest to find it once more, nine or ten years ago. He never returned…"

"Until now."

He nodded, "Until now."

"So this great-uncle of yours had been lost for nine or ten years after journeying to Valyria, only to be taken down under by a storm at the end of his quest?"

"It would seem so."

He sighed with a slow shaking head, "A shame, your grace."

"Indeed. I would have liked to meet him."

Wasting no more time, Lyonel commanded Jon to bring the journal and lead his sworn shield through a familiar path, one he recognized as the one his uncle showed him when he was younger. The path to the Chamber of The Painted Table. Barristan stood guard and noticed the two's approach, parting the doors and revealing the massive carved and painted map of Westeros. _'The very same The Conqueror and his sisters used before his quest began.'_ The miniature Westeros was surrounded by a scowling Stannis and Davos with his humble bearings, shooting suspicious looks to another person whom the prince did not recognize.

A woman, hair as red as her robes and the ruby necklace she wore, stood opposite to his uncle. Lyonel may not have had any interest in the topic of sexuality, but he knew what men considered a great beauty. And he was staring right at the delicately shaped visage of one. Even Jon's eyes widened slightly, either taken aback by her beauty or her seeming obsession with the colour of fire. The woman was slender, carrying herself gracefully even when standing still, her pale skin was unsullied by blemishes. Her narrow waist accentuated her figure, her body sporting a full bosom, the red dress' neckline taking care to reveal the matching curves of her large breasts. Her heart-shaped face was as nubile as her body.

Lyonel spared half a glance at her before deducing her to be the red woman Stannis spoke of. He faced his uncle, exchanged respectful greetings, and reveal his findings. All the while he could feel the red priestess' calm gaze, burning like the flames she loved so, on his head. He tried to ignore the feeling of her eyes on him yet his mind persisted on returning to the subject. Still he managed to focus on explaining what he found to Stannis, and before long he was once more marching off to his room, where he found Shireen playing with the pet cub on the table.

Her head turned to the opening door, looking excited, "Lyonel! Come in, quick!"

He motioned for Jon to remain on guard outside and closed the door behind him with a smile, "Spending time with the cub, I see." His eyes landed on it and was shocked to see how the recently wounded animal had healed so quickly. Its surprisingly alacritous yet clumsy running attested to its speedy recovery. It ran back and forth, playing tag with Shireen's hands.

"Look at it, cousin! Isn't he adorable?!"

Lyonel had to admit, seeing the cub better than its previous state and playing with his cousin made him feel… comforted, for lack of a better word. Reassured. It made him happy to see its joyful state. "He is."

"Did you name him yet?"

"I did," confirmed Lyonel as he crouched to his knees to level his eyes with the cub.

"What is it? I've been calling him _Black_ for a while now. Can you name him _Black_?"

"It'd hardly prove practical."

"Why's that?"

"The northern lords have taken to calling me _the Blacklyon_. With a _y_ , like my name. As Jon pointed out… for some reason. In any case, it would prove terribly confusing, and rather awkward, if during war councils one of my lords called out _Blacklyon_ and it was the cub who perked up. Wouldn't you agree?"

She looked giggled and nodded. She inquired soon after, "They've begun calling you _Blacklyon_? Why?"

He raised his shoulders slowly in a hesitant shrug before conceding, "…Because I may or may not have beaten three opponents in a fighting ring into deep unconsciousness while holding back and with them giving it their best."

"They did? Against their king?"

"I encouraged them to by saying I wouldn't hold back. It seemed to give them enough motivation."

"That's clever!"

He smiled and inclined his head, "Why, thank you, Shireen."

"So they call you _Blacklyon_ because of your fighting abilities? Do you know what this means?" He shrugged. "You're just like the _Blackfish_!"

He smiled again. He was not surprised she was clever enough to come to that conclusion. Myrcella may have natural sharp mind, but Shireen was without a doubt more learned than even some scholars whom boasted of their knowledge. He had the chronic tradition of sending her books, fictional and factual, fantasy and reality. He made sure to handpick every single one to make sure she learnt as much as possible while still maintaining a healthy collection of fantasy books to stimulate her creativity. Owing to him, she was well-versed in essosi mythology more than most nobles in Westeros all put together. Though truthfully it didn't say much as the lords of Westeros preferred stories of heroes of great deeds that they allegedly claimed blood relation to, in order to boast prestigious and rather pretentious claims of heroism. ' _Rather than stimulate intelligence, they stimulate ego_.'

"I guess I am," he said with a full grin and gripped her cheeks before leaning up and kissing her forehead. He stood up and walked to his bed.

"Well?" As he sat down, he shot her a confused look. "What did you name him?"

He looked at the cub, now in Shireen's arms, comforted by her swaying. "Auron."

"Auron? What kind of name is that?"

"Haven't you read the book on Yi Ti mythology I gifted you?"

"You send so many, I've only enough time to read three fourths of what you send me before I receive more."

"Forgive me."

"No, no! I'm glad, but it's just that you can't expect me to read everything."

"I suppose not."

"Will you tell me of Auron?"

He nodded and she quickly settled in her seat comfortably, the cub in her arms staring at Lyonel intently, as if it understood him and too was listening. He began.

"Do you know of the Lion of Night?"

"One of the Yi Ti gods, yes."

"It is said that Auron was his son."

She looked confused. "Didn't he have a son with the goddess of Yi Ti who became the first ruler of the Great Empire of the Dawn?"

"Aye, born from the seed of the Lion of Night and grown in the womb of the Maiden-Made-of-Light. But it is said that when the Maiden-Made-of-Light turned her back on the world and the Lion of Night came forth in all his wroth and fury upon the evil and wickedness of men, there was a woman with unmatched beauty, kindness, and a most pure heart. Fair-haired and fair-skinned. Her blue eyes pierced their way into his heart and the Lion could not stop the desire that afflicted it. So kind was she that she pleaded for the forgiveness of what few wicked men remained. Some say she had a brother whom had been tainted and she wished to save him. Her words proved so moving that the Lion of Night could not refuse. And knowing the god would demand reward for sparing her brother, she gave him the one thing she knew he desired. Her maidenhead. He took her for thirty days and thirty nights. She wept the entire time. It is said that when he took her in the skies, it rained for an entire moon turn."

"Great was the Lion's shame when it ended, a most foreign feeling to the deity. Despite everything, the woman comforted the Lion of his shame, even in her own sorrow. She gave herself willingly, and to see it taint the deity's conscience filled her own heart with guilt. Amazed at how the woman had affected him, and her unimaginable kindness, he gifted her with his seed in the end, seeing it as a blessing. This child would be born in the lands of a small village in the province of Mikawa, where the woman lived. This village's soil was barren, its crops few and inferior to more prosperous villages. Its people were humble and poor, rarely greeted by the mere sight of merchant caravans. So infamous was its poverty. But this village would be the home of a great warrior. One who would be known in the Common Tongue as Auron Blackmane. The godson's features were that of his father. Tall, stronger than any man, most handsome. But his heart was tainted by the same darkness as his uncle."

"The woman's wicked brother," realized Shireen.

He nodded. "The darkness in his heart was but a small stain, a spot of black on a white surface. Yet it was still there. And it awoke in his most perilous battles. A cruel union of bloodlust and madness that could not be quenched. It was his boon and his bane."

"What does that mean?" she asked eagerly.

Lyonel only smiled, "I'm afraid you'll have to find that out for yourself. You have the book, don't you?"

She pouted, disappointed. "Aww."

"Trust me, it's better if you read his whole story for yourself. I fear it's too long a story to tell myself."

"At least answer this. Was he a samurai?"

He looked impressed, "Observant of you. Yes, he does become one in his journeys. He even rose to become a warlord."

"I see. But why is he named Auron? It hardly sounds like a name from Yi Ti."

"I am not sure. In fact, he has many different names in different versions of the story, but the most prominent was Auron. And the tale did not originate from Yi Ti, only Auron did. Who knows, perhaps Auron's mother was from another of the Free Cities? Or perhaps from Westeros? No one knows."

She seemed satisfied by the answer and kissed his cheek before taking her leave, reluctantly leaving the cub with Lyonel. He held the cub in his hands and stared at him, "Auron… A strong name, and no doubt it will mirror its owner. I believe it will fit you perfectly." He placed it next to him on the bedside. He was surprised when Auron began to tap on him. Surprise only furthered when its small claws dug into his clothes and it began to climb up his arm. He noticed something odd, considering both Cressen's and Lyonel's speculation of Auron's age. "Claws already?" A most interesting development. ' _And that's not to speak of the fact that he is able to climb. I will have to write it down for Cressen._ ' He was broken from his thoughts when Auron stood on his broad shoulders. Lyonel faced him, tilting his head and staring curiously as if an animal himself.

Auron raised his paw slowly as Lyonel waited to see what he was doing. He flinched when he suddenly bopped him on his nose. He froze in profound confusion as Auron jumped down onto the bed fearlessly. It landed poorly but shortly stood on its feet before exploring the new wonder that was Lyonel's bed. The prince was still frozen until his hand slowly reached up to rub his nose. ' _Did he just poke me on the nose?_ '

He did not know why, but he found the random nonsensical action almost, dare he say it… endearing. He watched with curious eyes as he explored, and after a while, Auron returned to him before bouncing and running around him, almost as if he was asking him to play. Lyonel decided to indulge the cub's request and soon found himself, much to his own shock and confusion, enjoying the light-hearted playfulness. ' _The Starks are all mirrored by their direwolves. But it seems lions are as different from their masters as night is from day._ '

Auron was nothing like him. He was cheerful, playful, and full of energy and enthusiasm, and blessed with a childlike curiosity. Not a single lion was of his ilk. Auron was one of a kind.

He was nothing like Lyonel. ' _And thank the old gods for that_.'

Once the night descended, Lyonel ran into an obstruction once he realized that Auron had nowhere to sleep. Looking around proved fruitless, Stannis made sure the room was spartan as he knew Lyonel would prefer it. He realized the cub would have to sleep on the bed next to him. He lied down, wearing nothing but his undergarment, and placed him next to his large arm, moving to make room awkwardly. He closed his eyes and thought the day was done. Until he felt claws digging into his arms softly. His eyes snapped open and directed towards Auron, now climbing up his arms. ' _He seems to already be in control of his claws. He made sure not to dig them too deep into my skin, yet still managed to climb my arm. Curious, an indication of significant natural physical control or even an improvement from a normal lion's anatomy, or an excess in intelligence? Or… could it be all of them?_ '

He remembered Cressen's words, " _Or… it could turn out to be a biological marvel…_ "

By the time his thoughts finished, Auron was on his chest and staring at him silently, almost intently. Lyonel's eyes widened when he raised his paw again slowly before again bopping him on the nose. His previous thoughts caused a more serious state of mind, one that was ousted and replaced by a lighter one by virtue of the cub's playful action. He could not prevent the small smile. Auron had seemed to have a way to make his mood more… light-hearted. This was only more endearing, and Lyonel found himself already fond of the cub. His hand moved to rub its back, causing it to purr and stretch against him while yawning. It did not take long for it to settle in the middle of his broad chest. It confused him. It didn't look uncomfortable (though it might have been for all he knew, considering muscle was hardly the softest of material), but surely there was a more comfortable place to sleep, no?

He was too tired to continue his thoughts and closed his eyes. He fell into a dreamless sleep.

 **Arya**

Samwell observed her once-ungainly dance, now almost as fluid as its namesake, as she sparred with Syrio, deflecting and parrying thrusts while countering with her own. The braavosi Water Dance had proven perfect for someone of Arya's short stature. The water dance and the braavosi blade her brother had purchased for her had proven to be, as the Yi Ti proverb put it, two wheels of the same cart.

' _Wisdom and virtue are two wheels of the same cart_ ,' she corrected herself. But it didn't change that the proverb, taught to her by Lyonel, was a perfect description of the synergy between the Water Dance and the braavosi rapier. One would be impossible to master without the other. One made for the other. She was lucky Jon brought her the blade he did. Though, it wouldn't surprise her if it was Lyonel who advised her father to take her stature and weapon into consideration when hiring a teacher. ' _He was always able to remain a step ahead of me in… everything._ '

In her deep thoughts she failed to realise she dropped her guard in the slightest. Syrio did not. Before she could blink she was on her hands and knees with a red mark upon her cheek. She touched it before getting up on her feet.

"I believe it is enough training for today," said Syrio when she faced him.

"We've only been training for two hours!" Before meeting Lyonel, two hours of constant practice would have seemed impossible to her. Now it seemed barely half of a normal training session. Lyonel told her of his schedule, and at first she was secretly reluctant, despite her immediate acceptance. ' _I must train more than everyone else to become better_ ,' she had told herself, and accepted the time her training would take. She was unable to last more than one and a half hours during constant practice before fatigue took hold of her and dropped her to her knees. She was embarrassed, to have shamed herself and look weak in front of her hero she'd admired so. Even now she was immensely thankful when Lyonel saved her dignity by telling her she exceeded his expectations to last only a single hour. He was a patient man, but apparently, according to him, during her training, his patience was never tested. She proved to be an excellent student, immediately employing every new instructions she was given directly after she was given them.

Her eagerness made her brash, but also more willing to learn. That, coupled with her ability to quickly learn anything she was instructed, made her almost phenomenal. At least, that's what Lyonel said. He might have just been trying to make her feel better. ' _Of course he wouldn't, you stupid little girl. Lyonel never coddled anyone and always spoke the truth. He always wanted me to get better and improve, he never lied to me._ ' She suddenly missed him again. Gods, not even the training would remove him from her thoughts. ' _I should have told him how I feel. Seven hells, I'm not even sure_ what _I feel._ ' She truly hated herself for thinking the way she did. She seemed like Sansa obsessing over some knight she just saw flaunt his pretty and girly looking face. At times, the thought of her turning into some stupid lady sewing all day frightened her. In her defence, she also thought of Jon and her mother. She did not miss them as much, she always felt as if they would always return to her. For some reason she feared for Lyonel, an instinct screaming at her. But she could not hear its words. The prince was another matter entirely in contrast to her family. She felt no regret with her brother and mother, she had said her farewells and kissed their cheeks, but she did not tell Lyonel of how she truly felt. She was elated at having mended their previous conflict, but it wasn't enough.

"Your body and eyes are here, but your mind and sight are with another."

"It is not! I was looking at you, wasn't I?!" she protested stubbornly.

"Yes, your eyes were on me, but you did not truly see. Your sight was on your husband-to-be."

She cursed herself for blushing, especially in front of Syrio. She did not mind her new friend watching from the sides, it made no matter as Sam already knew of her feelings for Lyonel. "Th-they were not!"

Syrio only smiled, almost fatherly, and lowered his training sword to hang at his side. He waved her over to him before sitting on a bench at the edge of the training ring. She suddenly felt like she was a little girl again, being pulled to the side by her father to learn something new. Her father always had words of wisdom to share. She wish she took every single one to heart while he was still alive. Particularly the words he spoke to her in Winterfell when she snapped at some household guards for calling the Silent Storm a, in their words, _Bloodthirsted lunatic with two sides to him as different as fire and ice_. They said one moment he was calm and lifeless before suddenly the second he was a grinning madman, smashing in the face of whomever he damn well pleased. It made her so angry, not only because the Silent Storm was her hero, but because she knew they hadn't even seen Lyonel's face, much less know the boy. They didn't know him, yet they judged him all the same. Just as everyone judged Jon. It was so unfair, she remembered thinking, and she may have yelled it at the guards too.

"You regret," stated Syrio curtly. She barely noticed Samwell walking over to them and sat on the bench.

She looked up into his eyes, placing her training sword next to her absentmindedly. "I regret what?"

"A pointless question. You know the answer yourself, do you not?"

Arya wasn't even surprised how observant he was. She nodded, swallowing. "I wish I'd told him. Now I can't even stop thinking about him."

"It is not thoughts of your black prince you cannot abolish."

Her blush took a deeper crimson red at thinking of Lyonel as _her_ black prince. But his statement was not lost to her ears, "What do you mean? It's only him I can think of." She felt embarrassed to admit it.

"He has not left you forever. Will he not return?" She nodded. "Will you not clash blades and japes together once more when you are reunited? Will he not listen to your worries and comfort you of them as a friend, and advise you on your vexing matters? Will he not share great stories and myths as you eat together?" Hearing Syrio speak of their time together did not help the longing she had for him. Nor for her brother. She would have to sit them all down after practice and eat together once they returned. She nodded again. "What truly eats away at you is your regret. Your thoughts are not on the prince, but on your unspoken words."

She expected him to say more, and when he spoke not, she found herself confused. "What is your point?"

"My point is, never leave a word unspoken to your loved ones. You may never have an opportunity to speak them again. It is a mistake I fear I have come to learn the cruel way."

Her curiosity piqued unbearably, and she could not prevent the question from leaving her lips, "Why?" She swiftly realized the rudeness, and perhaps even cruelty, in her question. "I-I'm sorry… You don't have to-"

Syrio's smile never left, but the mirth did, replaced by sobriety, "Fret not, young child. Do not fear my wroth, for there is none. I have long since accepted my loss."

She hesitated, despite his reassuring smile. She had no wish to sadden him by opening old wound. "Who… who did you lose?"

"My love." His voice carried a mixture of sadness and happiness at the same time. "She could no longer deny the God of Death's due. A long time her words were, 'Not today.' But in the end… _Valar Morghulis_. She fought with all her strength. But it was not enough."

She was extremely saddened, and very surprised. It was clear Samwell was as well, but did not have the courage to speak his condolences. Syrio frightened him. Well, everything did. "I'm so sorry. I never knew you were married."

"I never told you. It is never well for one to dwell on regretful matters of the past if they cannot be amended."

A silence fell between the two. Her voice slowly broke it. "…What was she like? How did you meet?"

"I first set eyes on her three-and-ten years ago. She ventured to Braavos from the Seven Kingdoms. When she first set her lithe feet upon the pier, she was lost, like a child losing sight of its parents in the market. She knew not what to do or where to go. But that was not all I noticed of her. She was saddened, and not meagrely so. Her eyes looked devastated. A most horrible thing to see in the eyes of someone so young. It was clear she had lost part of herself. She had not smiled until many a moons later. But even then, in her first weak moments of a new life in a foreign city, she was strong as she was the one to approach me. She asked for a tavern to stay her nights in. She was not short of coins. A hundred golden westerosi coins. She never spoke of how she came by them. She may have stolen them from a noble, I know not."

"I will not tire you with a lengthy tale. But I will speak of who she was. She was kind and even joyous, whenever the mist of sadness dissipated from her heart. As beautiful as the sun was bright. A shame she did not smile often, for her smile could bring joy to any man afflicted of grief. She always spoke words of comfort in my time of need, and I spoke words of comfort in hers. Never had I seen one so fond of newborn babes. She was a mother to all she met. She never spoke to me of what had happened, of what had burdened her heart so with sadness. But I knew, before she breathed her last. She was feverish, burning hotter than the sun in the Red Waste. It was too late to speak the words I wanted. She spoke, but not to me. She was delirious, near incomprehensible. 'My blue angel,' she mumbled. I was most perplexed. But suddenly, 'My beautiful blue angel.' It was then I realized she had lost a child. She died but a week into her illness."

Arya was at a loss for words and Syrio had not realized how much he'd revealed. "M-my condolences, M-master Syrio," a near-trembling voice said. Samwell had finally found the courage to speak it seemed.

The man smiled at the boy, "You have my gratitude, but there is no need. She is but waiting in the after-life. Perhaps I shall even meet this blue angel of hers."

A lengthy silence befell them, and Arya had meant to ask her name. Until suddenly Syrio stood, "Never hesitate to speak your heart to your loved ones, young ones. Never. It would not do for a man to live out his days thinking on what might have been. When you see the prince, child, speak truly."

Reluctance and uncertainty tainted her courage, "B-but… I'm not even sure if its love I feel for him or not."

"It does not matter. Do you not feel for him the way you feel? It matters not what one calls it, what you feel for him matters. No label can be placed on true love. Speak your heart and speak your emotions. You will find it far more earnest. And if there is the smallest fear of him rejecting you, remember. It is not the outcome that will plant seeds of regret, but to not have taken action."

Suddenly, all uncertainty was gone like shade before the sun, wisps of dark writhing away from the light. She nodded and smiled widely, "Thank you so much, Syrio." Before he could respond, she stood and wrapped her arms around him in a thankful embrace. Only a moment of surprise overcame him before returning the embrace. "Think nothing of it, child. We will rest for this day. Tomorrow, when you have thought on what you will tell your husband-to-be, we will continue your training. And we will make sure that, if you cannot awe him with your words, you will awe him with a serenade of steel."

 **Margaery**

The roaring crowd was almost deafening, especially so when you were standing amongst them, as Margaery was, flanked by her brother Garlan. The Gallant, they called him. Their older brother Willas cleverly spared Garlan mockery that befell their great-uncle, Garth the Gross. And it helped that Garlan lived up to his name, a formidable opponent to any warrior. Though he rarely proved it as he rarely took part in tourneys such as the one currently before them.

Her gaze covered the field that was littered by injured and unconscious knights who had been felled by greater warriors. Some seemed lifeless, others writhed and moaned and held their bruises or wounds, but any sounds they made were drowned out by cheering as only two great fighters remained. Her own brother was unmistakable, wearing his glimmering armour of roses and thorny vines that wrapped themselves around their wearer like kraken's tentacles coiling around a galley. His blade clashed against another wielded by someone of taller and brawnier stature. The visor of their helm hid their identity, like a faceless mask. Cold and ruthless, and stained with dirt and grime from a diligent and lengthy battle.

Every strike by Loras seemed more desperate than the last, and despite the skill they were delivered with they kept getting swatted away by the clearly preeminent swordsman. Loras was tiring, that was obvious to all. As well as his opponent. And it did not take long for them to take advantage as they again swatted his sword away before ramming their impressive frame into the smaller one. Loras was knocked to the ground, his shiny armour now sullied by mud and stains of blood. He was unable to recover his bearings before he found his visor opened and a dagger pointed at his face.

"Yield," Margaery heard the strong voice command through the cheering.

Loras, out of breath, could do nothing but nod desperately. The victor now removed themselves from Loras and turned to face their lord, Renly, who was seated high on a pedestaled chair. Truthfully, throne would be more suitable name. Not that it truly compared to most thrones, but it seemed to be more of the latter than the former. Of course, no one dared call it that for rather obvious reasons. It was an oaken seat with delicate whirling brown carvings and two great stag antlers protruding from the head. Renly was dressed in a black doublet trimmed gold-yellow with the Baratheon stag adorning his upper right breast. A blue cloak mirroring the colour of his eyes was draped on his left arm, sporting a shield sewn with the sigil of his house.

He smiled that charming smile of his and rose before clapping, and he was alone in the action. The crowd had silenced. "Well fought!" The mysterious figure knelt. "You are everything your father promised and more. Rise." They obeyed and stared firmly. "Remove your helm. I would look upon your face, Lady Brienne." Gasps and shocks replaced the previous roaring and cheering as the figure did as commanded, revealing the homely face of a blond woman. It would prove false if Margaery said she wasn't surprised herself. It would also prove false to say she wasn't impressed. "Ask anything of me, if it is within my power, it is granted."

She knelt once more, "My lord. I ask only to pledge my life to you and yours. Please. Allow me to serve you faithfully, fighting and dying for you with a sword and shield in my hands, as Ser Penrose once did."

Margaery had heard the story of _the Stag's Bastion_. ' _A pretentious name_ ,' her grandmother said. But she also thought it well deserved. Margaery was inclined to agree. Ser Edric Penrose died fending off at least eight forest bandits, according to Lord Renly. He continued fighting even after taking an axe to the chest, a feat unheard of before. It seems the man was determined. He left behind an ill wife and a son of insignificance. The wife died soon after and the son was most likely raised by Ser Cortnay, the castellan. Not that Margaery cared enough to truly find out. Though that did not mean she did not feel pity for the child.

Renly grinned, "As you wish it. Rise, Lady Brienne, Captain of the Baratheon Household Guard!"

Brienne rose with a relieved smile and stared up at Renly with admiration and… worship. "You have my gratitude, my lord. I will not fail you."

All eyes turned to a young squire pushing his way into the ring before quickly running and bowing before Renly, "My lord, King Lyonel has arrived!"

Renly's eyes widened, and Margaery saw the annoyance in his eyes he hid rather well. Not well enough to fool Margaery though. No doubt he wished more time to prepare. "When does his grace plan to appear?"

An unknown voice rang throughout the clearing, shocking all to silence, "He appears before you now, brother." Everyone turned to face the source of the voice and saw a balding man standing sideways to give way to a much younger man.

The royal family's visit to Highgarden all those years ago had already promised the second-born prince to grow strong and robust. Now he already looked a young man grown. Lyonel had grown even more handsome since last she saw of him. Though when he was younger, he was looked the part of a Baratheon. Now it looked a mixture between both stag and lion. Broad of shoulder and broad of chest, his body was not lacking for muscle anywhere. The natural strength inherited from his father coupled with a healthy diet and body exercise had spawned a fierce and attractive build, as one could see clearly despite his clothes. His thick mane of pitch black hair reached right above the highest point of his neck, and had a small hint of a widow's peak. Three thick strands of hair tickled above his right eyebrow. His face had previously been blank, always remaining so. Now he had a soft scowl etched into his face. It only made him more beautiful to her eyes in a somber and almost heart-rending sort of way.

His high protruding cheekbones were like that of a Lannister and as sharp as his jawline. His hollow, sunken cheeks carved their way beneath his cheekbones and served to only further his handsomeness as they accentuated every line, curve, contour, and feature of his, dare she say it, near-perfect facial structure. Yet there was nothing more eerily beautiful than his dark blue piercing eyes, no matter if they were blank and unreadable, almost lifeless. They bore into your soul and stripped you naked as the day you were born, whether you were willing or not. The images those thoughts put in her head made Margaery blush and filled her with arousal.

As Lyonel made his way to the middle of the clearing, a gregarious smile formed on Renly's face, "Nephew, what a pleasure to meet you. I found myself tiring rather swiftly from such an unbearable absence from my most noble nephew!"

His tongue spoke nothing, but his eyes did as they glanced at the wounded knights being carried from the field as if saying ' _clearly._ ' Stannis Baratheon, a woman, and a young man around Margaery's age walked behind the yet-to-be king.

Upon receiving no answer, he japed, "Living up to your name, I see."

Stannis spoke instead of Lyonel, "Spare his grace your lickspittle words, Renly. You're more like to fool an ass. You escaped King's Landing with your men while the king remained to save Eddard Stark. Do not act as if he's forgotten your abandonment of your duty and obligation."

Renly avoided the last comment, " _Renly_ , is it now? Why, brother, I thought you too prickly and dutiful to use anything but formalities!"

"Titles are for the ones deserving of them!"

"Am I not deserving? Did I not sit on the small council and rule alongside my nephew? Do the Stormlords not follow me, do I not rule the Stormlands?"

"A fine job ruling you have done! King's Landing is testament to your stewardship. You are as shrewd as you are loyal!"

"And you are as likeable as you are handsome," he retorted with an easy smile, and hushed snickers peppered the many whispering voices amongst the crowd. "Perhaps it is no wonder you've but a single-"

Before Renly could finish, Lyonel's patience finally reached its limit, it seemed, "Enough!" His voice was robust and silencing, his previously scowling face now contorted into a deeper one. "I will not have you insult Lord Stannis with impunity! He has been nothing but respectful and loyal, which is more than can be said for you! He asks reasonable questions yet you attempt to avoid them, pathetically so, with clever quips and retorts! Are you a bickering child, squabbling over whose turn it is to ride their father's steed?! Have you no shame?! Perhaps you would care to explain why you _did_ leave King's Landing? After all, you offered to give Lord Eddard a hundred swords at his command, only if he agreed to your terms." A shocked silence filled the yard, and Renly struggled to keep his composure as surprise overcame him. He had obviously not expected Lyonel to know of that.

' _He does not care for the honeyed words and veiled messages that come with intrigue; that much is clear. He's as blunt as a mace. Can it be true his cunning lies only in warfare and stewardship? If so, he will not last a moon turn as king._ '

"What was it, I wonder? Something you planned with the Tyrells to gain more power?" Renly struggled to find words. "Why do I even bother to ask? Never have I known a more self-centred man. You are in luck, uncle. I've no wish to humiliate you further. You may thank the long journey here for my fatigue."

"You've no right to speak that way to him!" a voice shouted out from amongst the crowd.

Margaery heard Garlan whisper to himself beside her, " _Hold your tongue, you fool, before you find it missing!_ " She turned her head to see that Loras had stepped forward from the masses.

' _What in the seven hells are you doing, brother?_ '

Loras opened his mouth to speak again, but it was Renly's voice who stopped him, "Enough, Knight of Flowers! Your loyalty is admirable, but my nephew speaks truly. It was cowardly of me to leave. I bear the in my intentions the hopes that we can make amends with this negotiation." He turned to Lyonel, "I've already prepares tents for your followers, and saved the biggest for you. You will find nothing amiss and will have your needs tended to, your grace, as will your party. Let it never be said I leave my guests wanting."

Lyonel stared and Margaery expected him to continue berating him. But, true to his word, he was too weary, and accepted the guidance of a squire to his tent.

It was a bizarre thing to see a young man of six-and-ten, if Margaery was correctly informed, scolding an adult man of Renly's age. Or rather, it would have been had the king not looked as mature as he did.

As she watched him walk off, she felt all doubts of marrying him fade for a small time. He didn't look bad at all. Suddenly her mind cautioned her, ' _Looks will not matter if he's a murdering monster, you fool. You are a Tyrell, the granddaughter of Olenna Tyrell herself. Since when are you but a gossiping maid imagining her perfect knight undressed before her every night as she pleasures herself?_ '

Since she began to grow needs, she answered herself, despite her pride.

* * *

 **A/N: It's good to be back! And goddamn if Italy wasn't fun! It's one thing to see pictures and explore the Colosseum in Assassin's Creed Brotherhood, but another to be standing before it. Even my mother is now reinvigorated, for lack of a better word, and is actually happier. Something which helps me concentrate on the story without having to worry about her. (Honestly not enough reason to be particularly worried about her, but what can I say, I'm paranoid and worry too much about her). And the people I met were very amused by the cursewords I learned from Ezio. I won't bother anyone with details since no one really cares, but I'm back now and, thanks to the advice of some of my reviewers, have now come up with a new arc in the future for Lyonel and Arya. Also, while there I re-read the ASOIAF books, books which I haven't read in a long time. I hope at least some of you noticed an improvement in writing this chapter . If you did, please let me know to see if I've truly improved as much as I think.**

 **Small sidenote: Credit to N7withpride for correcting my mistake when I wrote that the Tyrells were kings of the Reach. I was writing a bit too quickly it seemed and wrote wrong. This reviewer was kind enough to correct me, so thank you for that. If anyone finds a mistake or a plothole, please point them out. I'd hate to confuse anyone.**

 **As you can see, I've named the cub Auron after a Final Fantasy character. But I created a different backstory, and added more into the Yi Ti lore, for the name (Another thing I should mention is that I will base Yi Ti off of feudal Japan instead of imperial China, as I'm more knowledgable in the former). A badass name in my opinion, and fitting if what I heard of his personality is true. (and a name which I myself imagine being pronounced as awe-ron). It was suggested by Rainsfere, so credits and a big shoutout to him/her. The rest of the names suggested will be written below and will be credited to their creator/** **suggestioners**

 **Cub Names:**

 **Cacao - by Wulf47 for Lyonel's love of chocolate (I was actually VERY tempted to pick this name)**

 **Merwyn (Sea-friend), Ekaitz (Storm), Girisha (God), Benton, (Moondweller), Deston (Destiny), Mailhairer (Ill-fated), Jellal (Greatness, Superiority, Renown), and last of all Durran. All of the following names were suggested by a prolific ATinyOceane. It is a shame none of these made it as some were very interesting. Massive credit and gratitude to ATinyOceane for his/her dedication.**

 **Samson - by King Kroniiclez (A very fitting name, and I may even have chosen it, but in my opinion it did not sound like a strong name. No offence to anyone named Samson.)**

 **These were all the ones suggested, my gratitude to all of the ones who submitted their suggestion for the names.**

 **I should say to those who are looking forward to Lyonel and Melisandre's interaction, I haven't come up with one yet, but when I have and am satisfied, I'll probably put it in a flashback.**

 **Also, I hope I gave a clear enough description as to what Lyonel looks like when Margaery saw him. Again, if anyone has an artist they can point me towards, I would appreciate it very much. The only image of Lyonel I have is a screenshot from a game, which is why I need an artist to more accurately portray Lyonel as his character model isn't exactly exemplary of what I imagined, despite being based off said character.**

 **On a different note, I will state now that what Lyonel and Jon found will not be dismissed. I won't shove them on a boat and send them off rowing for three seasons *Cough, Cough*. And also, Syrio's backstory won't be meaningless either.**

 **Anyways, onto the reviews:**

 **Rainsfere: Thanks for being understanding, and as I stated before, he will have interactions will Melisandre later.**

 **Hektols: Well... you sure had a lot to say. Don't get me wrong, I love criticism (as long as they're being constructive, of course) but it's just I was surprised to suddenly see an influx of reviews. I should probably also explain some things. The reason I didn't choose Tommen and created a new character is because of Lyonel's backstory, AND his _true_ origins, which will be revealed in later chapters. If that didn't make any sense, good. Don't want anyone guessing too soon. (Well, that and the name Tommen sounds like shit). Also, about my rant with the controversy of Sansa's rape, I mostly saw complaints because she was raped, and not because it didn't happen in the books. Of course, I might've not been looking hard enough.**

 **Also, it wasn't Ned's fault for not listening to Lyonel. He did, and tried to trick Littlefinger. But he's atrocious at intrigue and wasn't realizing that just because he was pretending to trust Littlefinger, didn't mean that he was the one currently playing him. So he still got screwed over, it's just that it wasn't enough that he was pretending to trust him.**

 ***DING DING DING* We have a winner! I was very surprised when someone already guessed the captain's identity. I actually hinted at it with the rosewood casket's colours (Red and corners set with gold). I even considered putting a carving of a lion's head on the lid, but thought it would have been too obvious. Still, nice guess. In any case, I welcome you to the adventure of Lyonel. I hope you'll enjoy his story.**

 **King Kroniiclez: Glad to have you back, Ninazu! About the knife, I will say that it wasn't the knife that said 'please'. I wonder if you can figure what/who it was that said that.**

 **JaegerCryptic: You have my thanks for suggesting to read if I ever hit a writer's block. It actually helped when I wrote this chapter.**

 **BraveVesparia: She's currently 14 after chapter 9.**

 **ATinyOceane: The thing about Garrett is, he has a silver tongue AND a golden heart. The Jack of All Trades. I'm glad to hear your attachment to Lyonel, since I feel the same way. He's my creation and I'm very proud of him, and I'm glad others like him too.**

 **Saint River: Yeah, imagine Lyonel riding a stag through enemy lines like Thranduil rode the elk in The Hobbit.**

 **Guest: Out of all the things I imagined Lyonel to be criticized for, I never would have guessed it to be for his similarity with Sheldon Cooper. In any case, I'm sad to hear you don't enjoy the story or Lyonel. I hope you'll find a story more conformed with your own liking.**

 **I would like to thank several reviewers for telling me to bring a notebook, as it was this idea that helped me write down a new arc idea, as I mentioned earlier, for Lyonel and Arya.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll hear from you all next time. Please make sure to review for motivation and/or constructive criticism, and to Fav and Follow if you enjoyed.**

 **Arrivederci!**


	15. Diplomacy And Deceit

Her hands were bandaged in white silk, stained by twin pools of red across the palms of her hands, like sheep's blood against wool after the wolf had feasted. But it was no wolf that feasted on her hands. It was the blade made by the hands of lions. She recalled the piercing sensation of cold, sharp steel carving into the flesh of her hands, near down to the bone, it felt like. But she was no maester. One thing she did know was the aftermath was worse. A chronic pain in the palms of her hands, aching and sharp, a throbbing fire that was never staved. She had not taken Milk of the Poppy. She needed something to keep her awake, to punish her for being foolish enough to let him out of her sight. The fire burning in her hands made a diligent job of that. _Good_ , she thought.

She stared down at his lifeless... No... No! No, at his limp form. She refused to even think of the word lifeless. She had to remind herself that he still lived. Though 'remind' was a generous word. Convincing herself for the past weeks is what she's been attempting at, the only indication that sparked the tiniest shred of hope in her was his chest that rose and fell with achingly slow breaths. Breaths that seemed to slow little by little each day. Every day and every night she would wonder if she'd wake up from what few nights of sleep she had to find that his chest had ceased movement, to see his lips lose colour and his face sporting a deathly pallor. He looked so beautiful and peaceful. The worries of the world around them barred away from someone so young. By the gods, she hopes so. He deserved what little reprieve for him there was.

As she stared down at him, her injured hands moved slow with uncertainty to grasp his limp one. Had she not known better she might have thought he was but having a tranquil night's rest. But she did know better. Her heart ached worse than her wounds as tears stung warningly in her eyes. She choked back a sob only once, for the second time overwhelmed her as she swiftly broke down in tears, her entire body aquiver as pitiful sobs escaped her. Her hands trembled violently as a squeezing pain shot through them. Yet it was not him that squeezed her hands, she was the one squeezing his, and blood seeped from her now-opened wounds.

But by the gods did she wish he did. If only he would wake up. To look up at her with so many questions bubbling from his lips. But there was only silence, disturbed by her muffled sobs. Why was it him out of all? That was the question she kept asking. Hands clasped her shoulders and words were spoken and whispered in comfort. But not a damn thing would wake him up. It didn't matter how sorry they were. These… strangers… They were not strangers, but they might as well have been, for they would never understand. She prayed they never would. None deserved this pain. None but the ones who had done this to her, to _him_. She prayed his enemies would know of the pain she felt, the ones that did this to him, whomever they may be. They deserved all the agony and suffering this world had to offer, she thought vengefully.

Every night, she prayed. To the Seven and the Old. None would answer. Why would they? They allowed this to happen. They allowed this fate to befall someone who hadn't deserved it. She would relish the sight of her Lord Stark beheading the guilty.

Only one voice could wake her from her endless staring. Another of her beloved ones. Robb. He placed his hands on her shoulders, a gesture of comfort, and a failed attempt. "You know he will wake up. He's strong, stronger than he looks." Aye, he was. But that strength had not woken him up from his seemingly endless slumber. She feared it never would.

She heard another voice. Someone of insignificance. She could not hear his words. She didn't care.

"I must go and help, you need to rest." After a short silence of no response from her, Robb left.

She promised herself she would only rest when he woke up. And if he never did, she would never rest. She would have the heads of the ones who did this, even if it took her own life.

* * *

 **Lyonel**

* * *

"I've no right to reprimand you, your grace. All I advise you of is to keep a calm and clear head. I understand that he is your uncle and that he has betrayed your trust, but that must not cloud your judgement or your better sense. Please, do not let it. For all our sakes."

She was wrong. Renly never betrayed Lyonel's trust. He never had it in the first place.

Lady Catelyn had not been pleased by how he spoke to his own uncle in front of all the Stormlands and the Reach to see. She made this known. Her displeasure was not great by any means, but in her own words, she desired the prince to keep a clear head. Which he had. It was all an act, to create dissent between the man and his vassals. The perfect excuse was that the man betrayed and deceived his own nephew and Eddard Stark. But he never truly expected Renly to help Lord Stark out of the goodness of his heart, how could he possibly hold it against the man when he didn't?

For now, he continued his act by playing along with Catelyn. "I value your concern, Lady Stark. And I will take it into consideration during my future interactions with… my uncle." He added a hint of restraint in his voice to feign hidden anger. Lyonel was not one for boasting, but he knew his talent when it came to acting. After all, he'd been fabricating emotions since he was but a child taking his first step. It was as natural as taking a breath. Or a life.

"That is all I ask of you."

"If there is nothing else, my lady, I would request you leave me and my sworn shield." It was requested politely, as Lady Stark knew.

She bowed her head, "Of course, your grace. I thank you for hearing my words."

He inclined his head respectfully and silently as she departed to her own tent. Jon let out a breath of relief behind him and walked into his vision, and seated himself on the lavish chair on the other side of the table Renly had set up for him, Ghost wandering to his master and laying himself beside him, ever loyal. On the desk, Lyonel had placed a thin roll of parchment. A message to Garrett, to be sent with the hopes of receiving an answer. The absence Garrett's response unnerved him greatly.

The entire tent was rather extreme. Its size was far too large for a single person, the inside too lavish, embellished by trivial objects and decorations. Soft pillows of colours ranging from red to green to blue to purple cushioned every seat and stool, every one trimmed gold, tassels hanging from their corners. The bed was larger than the ones inside a brothel's orgy room, and incenses and coloured candles mixed together blended into a poisonous scent, filling his nostrils. His eyes wandered over the roof of the gold-yellow tent. Jon must have noticed a shift on his visage as he scanned the current environment they found themselves in, Lyonel's eyes the ones of a disappointed son having seen his drunk father make a fool of himself. Jon kept staring expectantly at him, and Lyonel muttered, "What a waste."

His friend's brows furrowed, "You're complaining?"

Lyonel did not meet his eyes, "No, commenting."

"What's done is done. Do you aim to waste time turning this room spartan? Might as well appreciate it while you have it. The soldiers have it far worse out there."

"Exactly."

That was all he had to say to resolve the exchange between them. Lyonel's eyes finally landed on the bowls of fruit, from both Westeros and Essos, bejeweled with rubies and sapphires. He stared blankly, "We're in the middle of a war, and what necessary supply does mine own uncle believe prudent to provide my tent with? Bejeweled bowls. Look at it. Someone thought it a good idea to set a bowl with gems. A bowl."

Jon, having never thought of it that way as the North rarely spent coins on such unnecessities, soon began to realise just how nonsensical the object truly was and could not keep the slow laughter in his chest from building up. It started a chuckle at first, and would have been defused had he not met Lyonel's deadpan expression, which sparked the chuckle into an uncontrollable, muffled laughter.

All the while Lyonel shook his head in disappointment. It was as if Renly mocked him, knowing full well he despised such floridities. He waited, patient, until Jon's laughter finally subsided.

"How is your progress with Lady Stark?" he asked ruthlessly.

All mirth he had was swept away as if leaves before a gale. He nodded slowly, and tensely, "Better… or so it seems. She's… she's trying. There are so many times when I expect her to snap... and at times even a blind man can tell she'd rather lose me my head by a headsman, but she restrains herself from... vocalizing it."

"That is good," Lyonel reassured stoically. "It means she's committed."

"Seven hells!" Jon shouted suddenly, startled by the appearance of a small ball of black fur on his shoulder. "How did you get up here?!" Lyonel did not share his bewilderment, hiding the smirk that threatened to form. His eyes spotted Auron sneaking past his chair and shortly after, Ghost, and hadn't warned Jon of his approach. Nor was he surprised when the playful animal had appeared over Jon's shoulder, having climbed the back of his seat discreetly. Stealth was natural to him, Lyonel noted. ' _Another thing to add to the list of observations for Cressen and the Citadel._ '

Auron was finally the size of a cub now, yet his energy and agility exceeded Lyonel's expectations. He had a habit of doing so. Exceeding Lyonel's expectations, that is.

Jon sighed as his head slipped into his palm, frustrated. He lifted his head and turned to face the cub, glaring, "See if I ever spoil you with milk again!" It was a glare that faltered swiftly when Auron nuzzled against his neck, tickling him a bit. "Alright, alright, I forgive you, furry little prick." The crude words were sweetened by the warm tone and chuckling voice.

As if the cub understood him, he jumped down from Jon's shoulder to the table. Ghost rose and placed his paws upon the table, observing with an almost endeared expression, having become exceptionally fond of the cub, as Auron began to explore the bowls and their contents, seeming to be especially fascinated by the blue sapphires. Lyonel's gaze turned back to Jon, "The cause of my inquiry is the meeting. Can you two remain in the same tent without conflict, I wonder?"

The muscles of his face forced a stern and blank look, "I am a man grown, your grace. I can keep my emotions to myself."

Having called Jon a young man when explaining why he'd not consulted him before requesting Lady Stark to make amends had planted delusions in his mind. He believed Lyonel, a teenager, younger than him, saw him as but a petulant child, too emotional and too easy a target of provocation. It was not his intentions, but if it favored him with attempts at maturity from his friend he would not complain. He would see it as but a pleasant accident.

Of course, he did not also wish for Jon to think Lyonel looked down on him. And Lyonel could see the uncertainty, insecurity, in Jon's Stark grey eyes. They could not afford uncertainty during a pivotal opportunity in this war. "As I suspected," he reassured. "You are the blood of the Starks. Already I presumed you to be able in keeping yourself collected, but confirmation never errs."

The uncertainty in Jon's eyes had been replaced with confidence and a small hint of pride. He inclined his head, just as Lyonel often did, and Lyonel noticed the twitch of the corners of his lips as he attempted to pause the smile on his face, "Thank you, your grace."

"Thank a man for flattery, if you wish it, but not for a truth he is obligated to speak." His eyes wandered to Auron. Gods, simply observing him somehow made him more and more endearing. Nothing had ever provoked these feelings before. He felt… connected. It sounded odd, and an excessively archetypal thing to say. Yet nothing described his connection with him better. And it was far from one-sided. He had observed Auron often, nearly every second he shared the same room with him, and noticed he observed Lyonel nigh as much. With fascination and affection was he treated by the cub, as the cub was treated by him. He had grown close to it, and more swift than with anyone. Swifter than with Garrett, Arya, Shireen, and even his siblings. The moment he heard its pained yelps, he felt a connection, an urge. It was that urge that compelled his feet towards the cage at the edge of the Dragonstone's shores. It was that urge that demanded his fist shatter loose the lock, and the force that possessed his hands to open the cage, that reached down and comforted the injured cub.

With every night he slept he slowly came to a realization. Auron had always slept on his broad chest, every single night without exception. It had become routine. And the question lingered in his mind, ' _Why?_ '. Countless places in his tent would have been more comfortable than lying on his chest, yet Auron always chose the same area to sleep. Right above his heart. It was a trivial matter, yet he could not banish the curiosity it provoked within him. One night, the answer had revealed itself. He had a spontaneous thought, yet an interesting one, at the same time. He ceased his breathing, as did the movement of his chest. He had thought perhaps the movement comforted him. And in a way, it did. But not because of the movement, as he suspected. Auron slowly began to perk up, and before long, Lyonel's lengthy stillness implanted panic and concern. Auron began to yelp and squeal, tapping on his chest, and soon moved to nuzzle, even push against, the side of his head in an attempt to wake him up.

He was shocked, not only by his extreme intelligence, having already realised the objective concept of death after but a moon turn of life, but more so by his concern for his wellbeing. He had become so accustomed to Lyonel's breathing, an indicator of his life, that once it had stopped, Auron panicked and worried for his life. Its concern quickly evoked that exceptionally rare sense of guilt within him, a sensation felt but once before in his life, and Lyonel quickly opened his eyes. His hands moved to comfort the concerned cub, placing him on his chest again and softly petting his back. It did not take long before Auron's eyes shut close and Lyonel finally granted himself rest.

"Lyonel!" Ripped from his musing, Lyonel snapped eyes towards Jon. "You wandered."

He was right. Lyonel had been musing more and more. Something which had begun after his Baratheon hunt. It begun inconsiderable, yet by the time he had reached King's Landing after the royal visit to Winterfell, he'd started living in his head compared to how little he wandered before. He knew not the reason for it, and had not placed much thought into it. Nor would he. It was a trivial subject.

"Forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive."

"I presume you asked something?"

Jon chuckled, "I asked if that was your way of saying 'it was nothing'."

He recalled his response to Jon's gratitude, "I meant what I said. But take it as you will. Is there anything else?"

"Actually," he spoke suddenly, nearly interrupting him. "I'm wondering if you'd thought of Arya, lately." The curiosity in his eyes was unsuiting and unusual.

Lyonel stared, "A question I would not expect from you. Or a question I'd expect at all."

Jon shrugged, "Innocent curiosity." Lyonel barely noticed the smirk on his lips. It was twin to Arya's, a look he recognized as easy as his own reflection. Playfulness. Mischievous. They had identical smiles, he noticed.

After a curt pause, he answered, "Every day." Jon seemed surprised, if his ever-so-slightly widening eyes attested to it. Understand, Lyonel could not. Often, he thought upon Arya, and everyone else that held a place in what he supposed one could call his heart. Jon's lips parted again to speak, but Lyonel's words resounded within the tent first, "I've a question for you, if you do not mind it." Again, he seemed surprised, but this time Lyonel knew of the reason. No one expected the second born prince, now almost a king, to ask permission of a bastard. Jon nodded, shoulders straightening. "Is Arya ill?"

The question proved so random Jon paused a few seconds to comprehend if he heard correctly. "Is Arya... ill..?" he repeated. And Lyonel nodded. "I… don't believe so. What makes you ask?"

"You haven't noticed?" When Jon shook his head, he clarified the cause of his question. "Every time I've seen her for the past two moon turns, she would turn red at times. Blushing. I speculated her to be ill. Perhaps she would reel from an unusual light-headedness or intense heat. Myrcella's cheeks would also turn red at times when she had been ailing with a fever. I do not expect the truth to yield any illness of great concern, yet I cannot help but be curious."

Jon looked to speak something, yet hesitated, before he shrugged his shoulders lightly, muttering silently, "Well, she _is_ in intense heat. Just not from an illness." His expression was the same one he sported whenever he'd tease Arya, provoking her embarrassment and anger.

Lyonel's brows furrowed, his voice carried transparent confusion, "I fear you've lost me."

For a second, Jon looked amazed, Lyonel unknowing to the reason. It quickly waned into a neutral expression, and Jon waved it off, "I wouldn't vex myself over the matter. She's not ill, don't worry."

He nodded, accepting his words as truth. Though the question of why she did blush lingered, he stowed it away for now, placing his mind on more pressing matters. He was now assured of Jon's supposed composure, yet he knew better of what would happen. "I will warn you now, Jon. The Tyrells will offer me their loyalty, under but one condition. An alliance by marriage, one only achieved if I marry Margaery. This would mean I would have to break my betrothal with Arya."

He anticipated Jon's surprise and shock, soon to be followed by anger. He leaned forward in his seat, and his face creased with anger, "What?! Those fucking Tyrells! Of course they'd do something like this, bloody southerners! How do you know of this?!" As if Auron sensed Jon's anger, he jumped to the ground and made his way alongside Ghost to Lyonel's bed, out of sight. His curious mind was to thank for it, for he didn't do it out of fear, rather out of an aversion to negativity, a course he'd often take when he'd rather ignore the rest around him to explore the environment.

Lyonel's eyes landed on the thin scroll absentmindedly, "It is the only logical course they can be expected to take. It will benefit them greatly, secure them a place in the royal bloodline, and open many a trade routes to the Riverlands and further north. Prosperity, power, and coin is all that they seek. Not that I can blame them. And I would advise you to lower your voice, lest the Tyrell guards hear you curse their liege lords and ladies."

Jon couldn't seem to care less. "How can _you_ be calm? Do you not care for Arya, or of how she'd feel?"

It was an arduous task to lose Lyonel his patience on most matters. _Most_ matters.

His dark blue eyes flicked upwards to meet Jon's, piercing dangerously, "Tread carefully, Jon. Tread _very_ carefully. You may question my methods and my conduct at times, for even I realize the occasional error I may commit. But I will _not_ tolerate any doubt of my motives." The sudden cold firmness of his voice was all it took to convince Jon he cared. "Not from those whom I've deemed deserving of knowing them truly."

He swallowed, a nod his sign of acceptance. "Will you tell me this; why are you warning me?"

"Would you rather I didn't?" he returned blankly, previous anger no longer. "I want you to be prepared. And I want you to know that no matter what I say to them, I promise that I will not break the betrothal with Arya lest she herself wills it. Anything I say will either be a veiled and misleading promise, or but a blatant lie."

It seemed to placate Jon, his scowl waning. "What is it you're _actually_ planning to do, then?"

"That information is something I'm yet to be of a willing mind to share."

Lyonel caught the slightest hint of protest from him, like a hawk spotting a serpent's movement. Subtle, yet there. An opening twitch of the lips, the slight clenching of his hands against the pommel of his seat, the rising tense shoulders. But he thwarted his impulsive defiance, and calmed himself. Lyonel almost hadn't noticed. It was due to pure luck he did. ' _He's taking a calmer, more diplomatic approach. It seems I haven't failed completely in my teachings._ '

Jon continued playing his false facade of calmness. A mask, a mummer's farce Lyonel knew all too well how to play. "May I ask why, Lyonel?"

"You already did," he responded, blind to the jest he unknowingly made as Jon rolled his eyes. "If that says speaks anything of your ability to ask the question, you have your answer. That does not mean _I_ will answer. Do not take it as a slight, Jon. I've refused to divulge this with anyone, even Uncle Stannis."

Jon nodded slowly, "Then it must be something truly important for you to keep it from everyone. Very well, I won't press the matter against your will."

He motioned his head in a curt nod as response, "If you've no more questions, I would have the tent to myself. I've yet to rest and aim to do so."

"Of course." Standing up with grace befitting a knight, Jon bowed lightly, the prince inclining his head in return to the gesture.

"You are fully dismissed for the day. Do not expect to be summoned, bar a dire situation arise or the negotiations start. Though I wouldn't expect the latter until days from now. And go about your own matters tomorrow, as well. You will be summoned if I have need of you."

Jon thanked him and left the large tent, exchanging nods with Ser Barristan who stood guard outside. Ghost reluctantly trailed behind, leaving Lyonel and Auron together. He shifted in his seat to stare behind him, seeing Auron pouncing a green apple atop his bed as if a fully grown lion hunting gazelle. Other fruit littered his bed, with a simple bedside table to its right supporting a tipped silver bowl. "Not a lover of apples, are you?" he called out. Auron ceased his clawing at the fruit and spotted Lyonel, and stared curiously. A small smile graced Lyonel's lips, and he rose to his feet, moving towards him, "Not to worry, it's a sentiment I share." He plucked the now claw-marked apple from beside Auron, inspecting the depth of the cuts, before throwing it over his shoulder, ignoring the splatting sound it made as it landed in the grass. "In fact, I'd go so far as to say I despise them."

Auron perked up his head further towards him. Staring, Lyonel commented, "Arya would love to meet you, I would think. Yes… Yes, and no doubt you'd come to love her equally." Auron tilted his head, ears swaying gently. "She's… a friend. A very, very close friend. She has a companion of her own, as well. Nymeria's her name. She's just like Ghost. But she has neither white fur nor red eyes." He didn't know if Auron fully understood what he said. It was already surprising, in fact, shocking, that he understood the most basic commands at the young age he was, despite not always obeying. But expecting the cub to understand a complex sentence as the one he'd just spoken would be asking too much, even of one possessing Auron's brilliance.

He kneeled on one leg, leveling with Auron as much as possible, looking down as his hand nuzzled the cub's side, "She's just like her master… wild, disobedient. And has a fire in her heart not even the coldest winter can blot out..." He thought upon Arya for a time, until Auron seemed to have noticed his lengthy musing, and woken him from it with playful bite without power, only gently scraping against his skin. Realizing he caught Lyonel's attention, he began bouncing on the bed. Lyonel smiled fully, "A game of tag, again? As you will it, Ser Blackmane."

* * *

 **Arya**

* * *

After the Trident, when first she began her training, sword-fighting was not the only thing she trained in. Skill was useless without a formidable body as backbone. One could not hold a sword to train without the strength to bear it in her hands. She would be made to run or perform complex exercises, at times alongside Lyonel, her trainer, and her muscles would ache ever so agonizingly. A throbbing soreness in her arms and shoulders, even worse a tremble pulsating throughout her tired limbs, as if fire flowed through every vein in her body, and seeped into her muscles. An ache in her belly and back that hindered her completion of even the most mundane of tasks. She would curse in her head, begging for it to be over as she committed the rigorous task.

And she always knew that by the end of it, it'd be worth it. She would feel satisfied. It always was, training to her full extent and attempting to push herself beyond her limitations. Of course, she would fail, every time, as they were referred to as limitations for a good reason. Yet she would always end up giving it her all, and she also would find herself in better moods afterwards. With each day she moved past previous limitations gradually. Every session would she fall to her knees, face red, chest heaving as she struggled to gain breath, body aquake with tired and sore muscles.

A mistake at first, one Lyonel himself, foolishly, did not foresee. Her first week proved the worst torment her body had ever endured, with aches like knives jabbing against her body with every movement, only dissipating during the week's end. After a moon turn, though, she'd begun to endure it. Although it wasn't until yet another moon turn after arriving in King's Landing that her young body learned to mellow the sore aches little by little every day whenever she'd receive them. Syrio had also taken over in training her with swords, even taking Lyonel along as another student of the Water Dance. Though, Lyonel yet remained as her trainer in her physical training and occasionally as a trainer in westerosi swordsplay. And mellowing aches were not all that her training produced. She had not been blind to the change in her body, changes that were not exclusively from exercise. She felt pride, and at times even invincible. Lyonel made sure he cautioned against such deadly notions.

Regardless, despite her endurance against aches and sore muscles the days following body exercises, pushing herself now didn't make it any less exhausting. Her currently lying on the grass of her and Syrio's own training ground, panting for air, proved as much. Syrio moved to stand next to her, towering like a giant above her, his shade long, stretching across her body. She met his eyes, arm moving to drape across her forehead, shielding the sun from her squinting eyes. "How is it you're always not sweating?"

She saw him raise his eyebrows, "It is easy. I am not tired."

Her fatigue was all that prevented her from expressing the exasperation she felt, though it did not prevent her from sitting up, arms on the ground at her sides as support. She felt Nymeria's fur graze against her forearm as she flanked her master. "How? We've been training four bloody hours."

"I wonder, would your mother approve of such language?"

She looked apologetic, blushing in embarrassment. She rarely felt so, only with the ones that had greatly earned her respect, Syrio, quite obviously, was among them. "I've heard the soldiers say worse things..."

"Ah, it is the men that have taught you such things? It would do for you to shield your ears from their… inappropriate words. Lest, of course, you'd enjoy provoking your mother and brother's ire."

"I'm not afraid!" she blurted out with passion, fire evident in her eyes. _And even if I was, mother's not even here._

Syrio simply smiled, "This, I know, child. Yet I have not come to know you for your continued enticement of anger. Other than your sister's, of course." The mention of Sansa caused an ache in her chest, one she knew was from her absence. She missed Sansa. Not once in her life did Arya imagine she'd ever think that. She pushed the thoughts away as Syrio spoke, "Rest. Speak with your friend, the clever one."

"Sam?" He nodded. "I haven't seen him all day."

"Then it is time, I believe. But I would advise you to wash yourself before, given the possibility to do so."

She stood up abruptly, the burn in her lungs slowly faded, a continued evanescing of a flame. She did not think on her filthiness until _after_ she embraced Syrio (a parting gesture she'd begun to learn using after he had spoken of his loved one to her, the two having been brought much closer). He would not protest, simply returning the embrace gently before she stepped back and spoke to him, "I-if… If you ever need to speak about anything, anything at all… I'm here to listen. If you want to, I mean."

He smiled kindly, "A kindness I receive well, child. You have my gratitude. I will keep it in my mind, always prepared if I have need of it. But do not fret for me. I had said before that I no longer carried anger for what happened to… her. A lie, it was not."

She nodded hastily, reassuring him, "I know! But… I don't meant just her. Anything. I'm… I'm your friend. It's what friends do, isn't it?"

His smile only widened and he nodded. "A kindness well received, _friend_."

She could not help but reciprocate his smile with a full grin before hugging him once more, unable to stop herself from doing so. She stepped back as her finger moving a matted strand of long hair, wet from the fruit of her trying labour, from her face. She parted with no more words, in place of verbality an elated nod, and quickly trotted, Nymeria astride by her side. Her destination was the tent placed for noblewomen specifically to wash themselves, far from the men's camp, its surroundings guarded by trusted household guards. It comforted her immensely knowing Jory was among them. The water had been boiled in a kettle over a fire and left to cool enough to not remain harmful, yet it retained enough warmth. A luxury scarce granted to others but her. It would take far too much time for the men, and privacy proved a complication for them as well. It made her feel… guilty in a way, spoiled. But she thought she might as well enjoy it. It was scant of sense to waste said luxury while she had it.

Placing the sweat-stained clothes in the bucket left by camp followers, she moved to sit in the improvised wooden tub in the middle eagerly, already having made sure no one was watching by placing Nymeria at the entrance. Needle leaned against the tub, beside Lyonel's gift unfolded, its blade digging into the earth. She'd yet to come up with a fitting name, despite having had it for a moon turn. And she'd yet to decipher the meaning of the engraving on the blade's side. Samwell offered to look in any books he could find, despite the sparsity of books during times such as this.

She grabbed a soap, wrapping it in the wet towel left hanging from the edge of the tub, before she began scrubbing, wiping, and cleaning every inch of her body, taking particular care in scouring filth from the roots of her hair clean. There was little that annoyed her more than the constant itch in her hair. Little.

' _A war camp is no place for women_ ,' men whispered in her or her mother's wake. _Stupid, prideful dullards._ Always the same comments. Put a sword in her hand and place one of them in front of her, she'd change their tone right quick. Of course, none of the cowards would dare face her. No one wanted to risk their pride, losing to a girl or beating one.

She realized her frustration began to show, as her rouged skin now warned with an angry shade of red upon her arm and shoulder. She gentled her movement, and glanced at Nymeria, lying down in front of the tent flaps. They locked eyes, "Think it's you scaring them off?" The direwolf blinked, as if her version of a shrug. Arya smiled at the response before placing her legs on the edge, working on cleaning them. Soon after, she was finally satisfied, and took a dry towel from the pile left behind and placed it down in the grass. Her legs, somewhat muscular and robust for a girl of four-and-ten, moved out of the tub and Arya, taking another towel, dried herself off. She strained slightly, owing to her tired body, but managed soon with little difficulty.

It was ironic, really. Her body would always tire, be it from physical training or Water Dance training. Yet for the rest of the day, she would find herself in a great mood, always excited and happy, as Jon and her father would note. Again, she thought of her father, and the ever recurring sadness struck her. Arya swiftly wiped the thought from her mind. She would not allow herself to be brought down. She had already grieved for many a weeks. Time, it was not, for misery and mourning. It was a time of action. Something grief would not spare the energy to take. After quickly dressing on new clothes and strapping Needle and Lyonel's gift to her waist, she made her way out, the two trusted guards assigned to her following and the direwolf at her side as an equal. She dismissed them once in the camp.

She always dismissed them at first opportunity. It didn't feel right to her, replacing the other, now-deceased, household guards. Fat Tom, always so easy to fool. He was the one that had taken to calling her 'Arya Underfoot'. Soon, the rest of Winterfell began to as well. Cayn, slain by the Hound. Another killed by that monster. Heward, cut down by Jaime Lannister in the streets of that damned city called King's Landing. Who know how many more would have died if not for Lyonel's interference. They had been her family near as much as her actual family.

She admired him so much. Looking back now, in hindsight, Arya was amazed at how she could ever be surprised to have fallen for the prince. He'd done so much for her and her family. Jory lived, saved from Jaime by Lyonel. Desmond, saved by Lyonel's men in a stable in King's Landing during their escape. She'd been so happy to see him. As his arms wrapped around her, he whispered with the smile audible in his voice, "What did I tell you? One northman is worth ten southron swords. I'd never lie to you, Underfoot." The memory made her smile.

She herself was freed from the gaping maw of the golden lions, as was her brother. He even saved the life of her ever loyal Nymeria, now striding by her side. She was clueless as to how she managed an entire month without Jon, mother, and Lyonel. But they always said she was strong. All of them. _But them not being here for a month is nothing. I won't see Father for the rest of my life_. She growled to herself in frustration, fist clenching. _Why do I keep reminding myself!? It's not going to help anyone, and it's not going to bring him back_! _So stop thinking about him, you silly, stupid girl!_

This would be the point where she would visit Jon, or her father, or Lyonel for advice or comfort. But none of them were here. Robb was too busy, and she understood and kept telling herself to not hold it against him. It didn't always help. And she was left with only Samwell as a friend.

Nymeria nuzzled against her hand, and she relaxed. "I know," she said apologetically, "I shouldn't think that way about him. He's a good friend. He tries."

She found herself in front of his tent and stepped past the flaps to see him reading a book, unsurprisingly, and sitting on his bed with the book on his hands. He looked up, startled, before sighing in either relief, or frustration at how easily scared he is. "Hello, Arya."

"Hey. What are you reading?" She sat down at his flank.

Samwell's face took on an excited expression, eagerly explaining a book he clearly enjoyed, "I took one of the prince's books. Princess Myrcella said I could." Nervousness suddenly dawned upon him, "H-he wouldn't mind, would he?"

She nearly rolled her eyes at his chronic fear, stopping only out of thought for his feelings. "Stop worrying, Sam. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, I know him. Just… if you want a book from him, ask next time. I think he'll make an exception this once since he's not here."

It proved a satisfactory answer, the prominence of his excitement overshadowing his fear, "I'm reading, 'Flesh and Fangs'. It's the first book in a series about a group who originated from a tribe deep in Essosi jungles. But they aren't completely human, see. They're-"

"Beast-blooded. I know, I've read the books."

His surprise at her knowledge instilled an odd sense of pride in her, "You have? All of them?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "Only the first two. Actually, Lyonel told me the first half of the first book when we'd eat together. He offered me the books sometime after we arrived in King's Landing."

"Oh, I see. I'm already more than halfway through it."

"Already? Didn't you borrow it today?"

"It was two days ago, actually."

She was in disbelief, which she made known, "Two days? Those books are as thick as Winterfell's walls!"

"Let's not exaggerate."

" _Barely_ an exaggeration! Doesn't reading get tedious after an hour?"

He shook his head, answering as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, "No."

She sighed, imitating Sam by shaking her own head, "I don't know how you do it."

Sam only smiled, "I don't know how you can train for four hours nearly every day."

"I thought the same, once. When Lyonel told me that's how much he usually trained."

Sam began to laugh, "I'd gamble your thoughts have changed now. Look at you, four hours of tiring practice and the wobble in your body is barely noticeable."

"Now you're being generous," said Arya, grinning out of enjoyment from their friendly exchange.

"No, really. It's amazing how you can endure such a nightmare. Honestly, I lost my breath from _watching_ you spar with Syrio."

They both laughed, Arya's starting out a giggle initially, before evolving. She, in particular, was having a labourious time controlling her amusement as she laid down on her back, imagining Sam wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, keeling over a bench and panting for air as he spectated soldiers striking training dummies. Her laughter persisted for almost an entire minute, prompting Sam to chuckle in slight embarrassment, "Alright, don't laugh too hard, it's still me we're talking about."

Unfortunately for him, the comment simply made it more amusing to her. By the end of it, her face was red, her sides and cheeks aching from laughter and smiling. "Oh, seven hells, my sides," she groaned out in pain, though one could yet hear the smile in her voice.

"Are you done, yet?" a smiling Sam asked. She glanced at him and nodded, the smile never fading from her face. But she noticed that Sam's did. He closed his book and placed it to his left. "I think you should know something."

"What is it?" She sat up, arms as support behind her.

Her smile persevered until he answered, "I overheard something your brother said after the meeting with his bannermen. Something very important that may very well change the course of this war."

"What? What happened?" Immediately her mind began to tailor ridiculous theories. What if something happened to her mother and brother? What if… What if something happened to Lyonel? The more she thought on it, the less ridiculous it seemed.

It appeared her concern was visible, for Sam quickly reassured her, "Don't worry, no one's hurt! I just… I don't know what to make of what I heard."

He paused, collecting his thoughts. "Well, what is it, Sam!"

"Wait, I'm going to tell you! Just… wait." And she did, yet her heart beat faster with every second, despite his previous reassurance. "I heard that there's been movement down south. Far south. As in, there was been a large movement the size of an army. Dornishmen." The news shocked her, and it led her to asking what was most like to be known as the most eloquent, intelligent question to have ever passed her lips.

"...What?"

"I know, I was just as surprised. But no one knows who the Martells intend to support in this war, if they aim to support anyone other than themselves."

"They're going to betray both the Lannisters and Lyonel?"

He shrugged, "It-It's not impossible… But I genuinely doubt it. They'd have some formal declaration of independence, and they wouldn't send out an army. The best course to take is to defend one's homeland. Dorne's strength lies in its defence, as such, it'd be idiotic to send out even a single soldier to fight. It's how-"

"-How they defeated the Aegon and his sister from conquering Dorne," she interrupted, realization clear in her tone.

He was surprised, not by her knowledge, but rather by how she seemed to know instinctively what he meant to speak of. "Exactly. They forced Aegon, his sisters, and their dragons to play by their rules."

"So if they're not fighting for independence, then for who are they marching?"

"That's the thing, Arya. I don't know. On one hand, Tywin Lannister is said to have ordered the death of Elia Martell and her children, and the fact that The Mountain went above and beyond by…" He swallowed, and his paleness at the thought of what he spoke of next had him mirroring a porcelain statue. "...Forcing himself on Lady Elia… must have caused extreme resentment. But, then there's the son of Robert Baratheon, a man who allowed the Mountain his freedom after the… atrocity he committed. And who, some say, _praised_ Tywin Lannister for what he did."

The anger on Arya's face was palpable. "He did the Martells a favour! The Mountain got what he deserved when Lyonel buried his boot in that monster's skull," she practically spat out in disgust and animosity.

Sam was surprised by her passion, "Do you know any of the Martells?"

She mercurially shifted towards confusion as she looked at him, "What? No! What makes you ask that?"

"Oh. You just seemed very… angry about what happened to them."

Her answer surprised him, "How can I not be? What that overgrown, brain-of-boulder, dimwitted beast did was horrible! I heard what had happened to them, but after seeing the Mountain myself, seeing what he did to Ser Hugh… He deserved his end."

Sam could not help the smile that formed on his lips. _It is no wonder he admires her passion_.

Her anger faded, thoughtfulness taking its place as she thought back to the subject of the dornish, "Not only did Lyonel's father let the Mountain go unharmed, but Lyonel himself killed the Mountain in public, and brutally."

"That's good," said Sam, attempting to sound optimistic. "...Isn't it?"

"I don't know." She shrugged and shook her head, "I'm not sure. Maybe they're glad he murdered Gregor Clegane. Or maybe they feel as if he took their revenge from them."

He made a sound emanating his surprise, "I hadn't thought of that." He smiled at her, "You really are sharper than you think."

She smiled, and could not help the near-unnoticeable shade of red on her cheeks, "Thank you."

He nodded, "But they would never even consider helping Tywin Lannister, even if Lyonel took their revenge away. Perhaps they even consider Tywin a part of their revenge." His eyes began to widen in realization, "They might attempt to deceive Tywin to gain his trust, and when given the chance, they'll have him killed just as well. Or perchance even the other way around. Who knows what they're planning?!" Sam look befuddled, not knowing what to think.

Her frustration festered like an infected wound. They kept speaking in circles, no further destination than where they started in sight. "We can't keep speculating like this, we need to figure this out."

"Speculating is the only thing _we_ can do. What do you expect us to do, march out with an army in the prince's name?" His smile indicated it was a jest, "We can't act as messengers and hand the Martells an offer of alliance, Arya. We can't help with anything but speculations, and offer our insights. And even then, we would most like be ignored."

Arya slammed her clenched hand against the bedside next to her, "Gods, I hate this!"

He was surprised by her sudden, if small, outburst, "What?"

"The fact that we can't help because we'll just be ignored! Lyonel always listened to me, if he was here he'd have heard us out!" She buried her face in her hands. A girl of four-and-ten or not, he'd have listened. He wouldn't _always_ do as she said, but he'd listen and consider her suggestions, even doing as she said if he thought it a wise course. But here? They wouldn't so much as spare the glance, much less consider what she has to say.

He had not the words to placate her frustration, and for good reason. Her frustration was justified. She was more clever than everyone thought, despite her brash nature. As such, it'd prove a grave error to trivialize her opinion. But Sam? His wit was used to being ignored, instead his weight drawing attention. And not necessarily the good kind. Mockeries and insults are all they breed.

She suddenly rose to her feet and faced a surprised Sam, "No! I won't sit down like some useless little girl and brood all day! If they won't listen to how we can help Lyonel, we'll help him ourselves!"

"W-what? What are you talking about, Arya? What is it you're saying?"

"I'm saying we don't sit on our rumps all day doing nothing simply because everyone else won't listen. We take things into our own hands. We will stay silent and listen. We'll learn everything we can, and we take care of it. If we can't, we'll let Lyonel know of it."

He too rose to his feet, "Arya, listen! I understand your frustration, but you're getting ahead of yourself! This is folly! What could we possibly learn! We're just two children in their eyes! That's not to ask of what we can _do_! We're not seasoned warriors!"

"Good, then they won't suspect us." Seeing him shake his head in hesitance made her only more determined to change his mind, "We can't sit around and do nothing! If we can find out something, _anything_ at all, that my brother and Lyonel can't, it'll be worth it! If there is nothing to find out, then so be it! If they could win this war without what little help we may give, all the better! But at least we'll know we did everything we could to help Robb and Lyonel! That's reason enough for me."

His hesitation remained, yet she could sense he was shifting towards the idea more and more. Finally, he asked the question that spawned his hesitation, "But what can _we_ do? We're but two. Even if we could find out something of import, what are the chances?"

"We have to _try_ , no matter the odds, Sam!" Immediately after the words left her mouth, an idea hatched in her head, "We can ask Myrcella for help! She's smart _and_ clever, she could be better at this than both of us! We could ask even ask Syrio!"

He was shocked by the last suggestion, "Syrio?! But he's-"

"Let me handle him!" She stepped closer to him, her eyes adhering firmly to his, "Will you help me, Sam? Will you do everything, if anything, you can do to help Lyonel win this war?"

It felt like an eternity of silence, the tension in her body growing ever more tense by the second. It all faded with a smile of her lips as she saw a slow, hesitant nod of Sam's head.

 **Lyonel**

Auron's slumber was an ataractic refuge for the boy of six-and-ten whose eyes clung to the cub's sleeping form, calmed for a reason yet inexplicable to him. As he remained in said refuge, he thought upon his missed name-day. Though it was but another trivial matter to him, he had to appreciate the disappointment which nevertheless was there, like a whisper amongst a crowd, drowned out by the other voices yet still he heard its silent beckon, eating away at the back of his mind with nibbles. Though the cub's peaceful state did help mend the pain, it was but by margins.

 _It was one of the few times I allow myself the indulgence of the sweetest, most divine making to have ever been crafted by the hands of a master of art. Chocolate cake._

His heart ached longingly for it, yet he reluctantly stilled his desire. _Patience will be reward, and by the gods will I savour the taste of such a reward_. He closed his eyes and thought upon the godlike nectar like there was nothing else in the world but him and it. His heart began racing at the thought of it, the warm taste flooding his tongue, the soft cake slowly crushed between his teeth, the flawless texture scraping against the walls of his mouth as he chewed...

His cathartic reverence was cruelly interrupted by an unknowing Jon, moving past the tent flaps and calling out his name. Lyonel flinched, lamenting the loss of the rare moment of peace he had, before letting out a sigh.

He noticed Jon's stride stopping short, "I have not caught you at an inopportune time, have I?"

He called out calmly, eyes on the sleeping cub, "It all depends on one simple thing, Jon Snow. Is this matter you saw fit to interrupt me for a matter of life and death? Think carefully on your answer, for _your_ matter may very well come to reflect it."

He turned back to glare with cold, blank eyes at a dumbstruck Jon, shocked to stillness and speechlessness. Jon's Apple bobbed as he swallowed, louder than intended, almost comically, "I… Lord Stannis said to bring you word of the meeting you're to have with the Tyrells in a few hours. I doubted you'd forget since you made the arrangements yourself, but your uncle… insisted."

His eyes lingered before he looked back with a sigh, "Very well." He stood up and began unbuttoning his apparel. He noticed Jon yet remained in his tent, but he did not stop undressing, "I would hope you do not intend on watching me undress to my undergarment?"

At the comment, Jon did not so much as look embarrassed when Lyonel finally gazed at him as he folded his tunic's arms. He froze, "If you've something to ask, Jon, ask it. You need not ask me for permission if that's the cause for your hesitance." He sensed that wasn't the cause.

He was not wrong, "I know, Lyonel. But this matter… nevermind. You have more pressing issues to worry about."

The prince did not press the matter against his will, "As you will it. When you feel that said issues are of no bother to me any longer, you can ask your question. I will hear you out. You deserve as much, Jon." The bastard looked surprised, and smiled a slow-forming smile. He left the tent with a nod, to wait outside.

Lyonel strapped the belt around his waist, encircling his black doublet against him. It was simple, yet hardy. Make not for embellishment, but for lasting through wear and tear. He had previously thrown away the pair he had made in King's Landing. For the Baratheon stag that once reared proudly on his back was a sigil he was no longer comfortable wearing. Was it even his sigil, he asked himself, sitting on the chair as he pulled on black leather gloves twin to his tunic. Was he Stag or Lyon? Auron Blackmane or Darius Goldenpryde, Auron's greatest foe, vainglorious and cruel? Victor or failure of what the world had now taken to calling the War of the Lions? The unrelenting walls of a castle or the crumbling dust and ashes of one? _What am I, if not certain of mine own identity? I know naught more of myself but the name of Lyonel Baratheon._

He smashed his gloved hands against the table spontaneously, the wooden legs jarring as tremors shook through them. He could hear Auron making soft sounds behind him, and he regained his composure. _Now is not the time to inquire to the meaning of life and your identity, you mutton-headed fool! Out of all the times in your life to consider these things, must you do it in the heart of a raging war?_ He suppressed the growl of frustration he made, eyes shut close as his hands absentmindedly tied the cords of his leather glove. His anger subsided and he finally calmed himself.

Rising from his chair and rotating to face the sleeping cub, his feet carried him towards the bed Auron slept on, and his grip on the cords of his glove loosened, before he suddenly tugged them off. His naked hand now hovered above him, before gently stroking the black fur. A dreadful thought overcame him, a black chant honeyed by a jovial tone, the memory suddenly evoked in his mind. Lyonel closed his eyes, and recalled the last song offered to him by Patchface, the Court Fool of Dragonstone, mere moments before his departure.

" _The Star, the Tree, the Sea, the Flame, woe to silver and black that is their bane_."

The black poem brought nothing else than misery upon his mind, one the soft black fur of Auron could not soothe from him. He knew not why, but neither did her care. He only wished to banish it forever from his memory. Quickly, he recoiled his hands to stop himself from clenching the cub in his hand out of frustration. He quickly pulled the glove back on his hand and tightened the cord once more, before his eyelids parted.

Opening his eyes was the worst thing he could have done at that moment. For when he did, he saw a hellish vision. No longer was he seated, but kneeling. His armoured hands were bloodied, and he wore bloodied plate armor, chainmail reinforcing it underneath. He could feel the crimson-soaked cloth beneath sticking against his skin disgustingly, like the shed scales of a serpent adhering to its body. He fell against the ground, only saving himself from falling face-first into the pile of corpses he kneeled upon by supporting himself with his hands. Right on front of him was the mutilated face of a young man, his cheek seemingly carved off, the teeth visible through the hole in the side of his face. Lyonel could not pull his head up, frozen in place.

His antlered helmet was on the ground beside him, the right antler shattered off, the steel of its left eye carved open by a sword's piercing slash. He heard screams of dying men and the clash of steel against steel in his ears. A great shadow loomed over him, and a sense of dread he'd never felt before overcame him. His head finally gave way to his demands, and rose to meet the slit-shaped eyes of a great serpent. His heart pounded against his chest, almost tearing itself out of him as the colossal serpent reared its head to strike. The fear proved too much and he shut his eyes out of instinct. Only did he open it when he heard the drawing of a bow string. His eyes snapped open at the sound and followed the snake's thrusting head as it lunged itself past him.

It sunk its venomous fangs into the shoulder of a great red huntsman of equal size, causing his drawn arrow to launch off to the distance. In his grasp he held an intricate bow, his other hand moving behind his back to pull an arrow from the quiver. The last thing he heard was the wailing of a wolf, and he blinked again to find himself kneeling in the middle of the tent, coughing horribly.

"Are you well, Lyonel?" His head quickly snapped to the side, startled, and gazed upon Jon as he stood at the entrance of his tent. His eyes looked concerned yet there was little else that showed his worry. He made no move to help.

Lyonel nodded and waved him off, "I'm fine, I'm simply dizzy. Some water and I'll be well."

Jon nodded, and to his gratitude, had not inquired on his state. Lyonel's mind was in a tumultuous state. _What is happening to me!?_ He raised his clenched hand and drove it downwards into the mud, ignoring Jon's presence, only stopped by Auron's sprint towards him. The cub immediately hopped against him, the concern evident in his behaviour. "I'll be fine," he croaked out, raised fist unclenching and arm relaxing. Slowly he began to rise to his feet, and when he did, he moved to dismiss Jon, only to see his sworn shield had already left the tent.

He could not think on it, for a sound caused a near-violent shiver to jolt down his spine. It was the sound of a madman's laughter. It was not the clear insanity the laughter portrayed that unnerved him so, but the familiar voice it resonated from.

It was his own laughter, twisted and maddened.

* * *

 **oOoOoOo**

* * *

No one had noticed Lyonel's mood, oddly enough, as they marched towards the gathering. Despite the moody garb he sported. Black all over, with his boots trimmed yellow, and golden intricate patterns and whorls highlighting his formal doublet. The folded cloth that was usually found placed against the collar had been removed, and the collar had little adornment. His outfit managed to remain simple, however. At the least, simple compared to what he'd expect from the decorative Tyrells and Renly. Not even his uncle, Lord Stannis, noticed his mood, whom stood adjacent to him. Though it could not be said for all, Jon and Ser Barristan's ignorance were justified (despite Jon's odd dismissal of how he found Lyonel in his tent earlier, which Lyonel, admittedly, found odd bordering on bizarre), owing to their newly-formed bond over Jon's mother.

Their relation was building akin to Lyonel and Barristan's, though the familial connection was absent. Like mentor and student. The entire way Ser Barristan discussed the manners of a knight holding guard, particularly during such an important meeting. A subject the bastard was untaught in, yet one he clearly thought to be simple. That was not the case. Subtle mannerisms meant everything, apparently. Always stand with a straight, but not rigid back. Always scan the surroundings for someone of suspicious nature, and _always_ be on guard. One must also place one's hand near the top of one's scabbard, to be able to unsheathe your sword swiftly, but never place your hand on the pommel, and most definitely not on the hilt, so as to not threaten the guests.

It was clear to Lyonel, Jon's northern, simpler ways to look at things, made him dumbfounded at all these subtleties, some of which most would never even notice. Yet he did not argue with a man of Ser Barristan's prestige, and knowing how humble the man truly was, he assumed the subtleties were truly necessary, and not for the sake of coddling the guests as if spoilt children. Barristan then relayed Lyonel's orders by telling him they are to remain on either side of the middle of the tent.

The prince shook their conversation from his mind, instead focusing on the large land beside them, beyond the massive camp. A field of green hued yellow from the sunlight, the grass swaying gently, like the waves of the Narrow Sea during a calm night, along the wind that caressed them.

There was truly no other place he enjoyed more than the weather of the Stormlands, with moderate sun during the day and pouring rain during almost every night, accompanied by a raging storm from the sea. He found rain comforting. The sound of raindrops pattering against the walls outside his room's closed window, and the bellowing echo of thunder, was once his lullaby. And nearly every night, there was rain in the Stormlands. Like the Heart Trees, they comforted him, rain and storm.

Removing nostalgia from his mind, he soon focused at tent ahead of him. At the entrance, the Tyrell banner flickered and whipped against the wind, its gold-banded wooden pole borne by a steel-clad knight of Tyrell, as not only the banner signified, but also the golden flower emblazoned on his shield. The band of flowers all stood at attention as they saw the clad-in-black monarch striding steadfast towards them, a party of his own behind him. To his flank behind him stood his two most loyal, now-silent guards, Jon and Ser Barristan. Behind them, Lady Catelyn Stark, the Stark envoy, was guarded by her own northern household guards, the Direwolf splayed proudly across their chests and shields. When the Tyrell guards greeted Lyonel respectfully, the prince bowed his head, showing them equal respect. A gesture they greatly appreciated, as the following smiles some of them possessed illustrated.

 _Regardless of their lieges, these soldiers are but soldiers. If they are to become my men, they would die for me the same as the northerners and Stormlanders. As such, I must show them respect equal to all of my men._

"I would assume Lord Tyrell and his envoys are in the tent?"

The flagbearer nodded. "Correct, you are, your grace. Whenever you're ready," he said, motioning for the tent flaps.

Even outside he could smell the clothing scents of rosewater and lavender. It betrayed the presence of Lady Margaery. _Or Renly_.

The guards at either side of the entrance slipped their hands in between the flaps and parted them, stepping to the side and allowing him and his followers to enter. The sight greeting him was of a great oval table right in the center of the tent, many a seats surrounding it. Flagons of wine were placed in between fruits and bread and walnuts, among other snacks. On the side opposite to theirs, the Tyrells and Renly were seated. His flamboyant uncle stood on his feet, arms spread wide, a well-nigh equal smile on his face. The false warmth in his smile was twin to the welcome. Well-hidden, yet glaringly clear as daylight at the same time, "Dearest nephew! Brother!" To his left stood Lady Margaery Tyrell.

She was as pretty as the first day he visited Highgarden, if not more so. And he was as uninterested then as he is now. She bowed gracefully, dipping herself as her hands lifted the hem of her green dress. A dress that, just as the Red Woman's, took care to flaunt the deep valley of her breasts. The waist fit tightly against her, emphasizing her curves. The mounds of her hips could be considered above average. Nothing that caught his eyes, truthfully spoken. One thing however, did catch his attention. It was the lack of reaction from Margaery's father at her clothing that truly surprised Lyonel. _Is his thirst so great for power that he sees naught wrong with such revealing garb? Is he so willing to whore his daughter to me?_

"It is an honour to finally meet you after so many years, your grace." Margaery's voice was sweet and polite.

The awkwardness from the absence of Lyonel's answer was nonexistent thanks to Lord Mace Tyrell, the Fool Lord himself. "As it is for all in the Stormlands whom have been honoured to be in your presence, your grace. I am no exception. You have truly grown to match the Warrior's visage, himself."

Strong he may be, aye, and tall for his age. Yet still he remained shorter than most adults, as was apparent with Lyonel standing next to his taller uncle. It was absurd to compare him to a god, even if it was a god he had no faith in. Insulting, in fact.

"His grace is not one for pleasantries, Lord Tyrell. Let us begin." Stannis was not one for hiding his thoughts, a trait clearly demonstrated now.

"It's of no trouble, uncle. Lord Tyrell simply wished to show respect. There is no harm in it." His voice was blank, yet Stannis nodded all the same. At his nod, Lyonel continued, "However, Lord Stannis is not wrong, I would begin now. Flattery is for a time of peace, not war."

Renly nodded, the smile never leaving his face, yet a smile that never reached his eyes. "Very well." As he saw Lady Catelyn emerge behind the prince and seat herself at his flank, he bowed his head to her lightly, "Lady Catelyn Stark. I'm honored to greet you. And you have my condolences for the loss of your husband. Lord Eddard was a great man, and honourable. Westeros has truly suffered a great loss in his wake."

It was by margins he managed to prevent himself from losing his composure, for he was truly angered now. _He has the gall to offer condolences, when he had been the one to abandon Eddard when he was needed most?_

After her return of curt pleasantries, they all finally sat. Renly moved to speak, yet was unknowingly interrupted by the Fool Lord, his hidden frustration shining through his eyes.

 _They are disorganized, none know their parts or place, all speak without structure._ It took little time for him to realize the Queen of Thorns was absent. _What are they thinking?_

"As you said yourself, your grace, you are not one for pleasantries, so I shall omit such unnecessities. We offer you all the men in the Reach and the Stormlands for but a small price. Without a doubt, you will find the offer so generous-"

Before he could spew any more words out at the risk of making himself into a bigger fool, Stannis saw fit to interrupt. In truth, it was more merciful than rude. "No doubt it was Renly whom had produced these ideas, so let him be the one to speak them. Already is his loyalty in question, what are we to think if he will not speak his own words. We wish to hear it from his lips, not the ones of an agent's."

 _I have truly missed Uncle Stannis' bold and blunt ways,_ Lyonel thought fondly.

The Fool Lord looked as if he had been slapped in the face, cheeks rouging, though not in the shape of an open palm. He saw Jon bite his lips together discreetly in an attempt to stifle his grin. No doubt, he was pleased to see the one attempting to wound his sister's honour humiliated. Renly was unsurprised by his brother's antics and soothed Tyrell with a hand on his shoulder, "You must forgive my brother. He is not known for his handsome smile and silver tongue." He turned to face Lyonel. "Dear nephew, we understand your frustration. You believe me, us, to have betrayed you for our own gain. But you must know that the Stormlands and the Reach sacrifice much as the vanguard."

Lyonel raised an eyebrow, though it was the only change in his calm expression, "Vanguard?"

Renly looked confused for a moment before he let out a chuckle as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world, "Why, of course. Combined, they form the greatest army in the Seven Kingdoms! The Reach alone is already the greatest!"

 _Do not tell me he is truly this oblivious._ "Greatest in size, yes, without a doubt."

Renly seemed hesitant now, at the prince's questioning. "What other army is the greatest?"

Resisting the urge to shake his head, Lyonel but stared, blinking once slowly. Yet Stannis' patience was limited, and his brother's ignorance clearly proved straining. "Are you so blind, brother? The North's army may not have the greatest size, yet they have shown nothing short of unrelenting loyalty. They are slaying Lannisters as we speak in His Grace's name. They fight and bleed for him. Yet you request his grace spit on the North's face for the Tyrells, whom have yet to utter a sound of declaration of their loyalty to the Iron Throne's true heir."

"We do no such thing, dear brother of mine. The Reach shall fight and bleed the same, if not better, once we are finished with this little parley-"

Lyonel's interruption came sudden and unexpected, "And I suppose frivolities such as the tourney I came across arriving here was a great testament to the sacrifice the Reach have suffered during this war?" Renly could not conjure a lie to that. _He is as dismissive and careless of his people as he was in King's Landing._ "Lord Stannis always speaks true, and this occasion is not an exception of the claim. Not even are they your kin, the reachmen, nor have you grown up cared by them. And yet all I have heard leave your mouth is flattery of these reachmen you love so."

Even had Renly been blind would he have known Lyonel's implication, as his tense smile indicated. _That's right, uncle. I know of you and your lover. The one that bears steel and sheds blood in your name as sworn sword. Your pretty Knight of Flowers. I wonder, where is he this night, if not by your side? Perhaps you left him breathless and unable to move from your bed._

The silence was just short enough to be unnoticeable. "The North has done everything asked of them and more. I came to them with nothing but my siblings and the dead body of their liege lord carried on the Direwolf banner. I was defeated and alone, and when I needed you the most, I hear word of an alliance between the Tyrells and Lord Renly Baratheon. Yet you had not proclaimed Joffrey a king, nor had you proclaimed me. You waited. I did not hear a word from you. Only Lord Stannis had sent ravens proclaiming me king, and encouraged all true lords and ladies do the same. But where I was, in the North, I was helpless. I was at the Northmen's mercy. Yet it ended up being them that helped me to my feet, swore their loyalty and their lives to mine. And it is through their blood and relations that I have managed to secure the Riverland's loyalty. You will not trivialize their actions by claiming you can do _better_. Am I understood?"

The silence that followed was lengthy, and stunned was Renly, unable to answer. _A rare sight, to see the big-mouthed Renly Baratheon lose his tongue._

The silence was abated by Lady Catelyn's placation, "I'm sure Lord Renly meant nothing of the sort, your grace. And though I truly, truly do appreciate your acknowledgement of our sacrifice," He could see in her eyes that she was pleased by his words. "Lord Renly did not mean to cause offence."

"No, no, my nephew is right. Whether intended or not, I trivialized the northerners loyalty. I apologize," he said, to the surprise of Lady Catelyn.

 _An attempt to seem loyal. Does he mean to insult me, to think me so foolish?_

"However, I am confident that with our armies, we shall take King's Landing and win this war. No need to fight the lion with a sword, only put a well-placed bolt in its heart." He smirked, staring at the prince, "Or, in your case, an arrow would be more fitting. I do hope you've kept your aim sharp."

As they all no doubt expected, he ignored the small chatting, "What is it you demand?"

"Demand? You make us sound awfully selfish, Lyonel. No one is forcing your hand here."

The righteous smile on his lips was all it took to push him to his limits. He abruptly raised his hands to cut Renly off, and his hard gaze staring, in his eyes a blue raging, silent storm. "Don't," said Lyonel, voice carrying a hidden tempest, just as his eyes. "Do not try me, uncle. Or the old gods help me, I shall discard all sense of manners discretion and truly bring to light the man you are, before all your vassals. Your life will be thrown into the dirt, trampled by all your past vanities and mistakes. And at the very end of your life, you will stand alone."

The smile on his face had fallen, and a nervous look in his eyes was visible. He had clearly not expected such a reaction caused by the comment. The tension in the room was thick, and Catelyn's shock was apparent in his voice. "Your grace! It is not prudent to-"

Lyonel struggled to remove his furious eyes from Renly, before finally managing to turn to Margaery, ignoring Lady Stark's warnings. Margaery's eyes were as wide as the plate in front of her, "I assume you wish for a betrothal with me."

All but Jon and Lyonel were surprised, Stannis' eyes widening as he glared at Renly before his eyes glanced towards the Fool Lord, squinting at him slightly. Lady Catelyn was more than surprised, she was shocked, even. "Your grace- You must forgive the King, Lord Renly." Her attempts at assuaging the severity of the situation were clearly desperate. Her eyes were that of a stern mother as she glared at Lyonel, clearly past the point of hierarchical statuses. "Such assumptions are not-"

His voice raised only ever so slightly, eyes fixed upon Margaery's, yet his voice spoke to Renly. "Are they assumptions, uncle? Or am I wrong?"

The silence that followed shifted Catelyn's gaze towards him, "Is this true?" It was clear she was far from pleased.

As if fearing Catelyn's wrath, he let out a silent chuckle, gaze upon Lyonel, "I suppose it was bordering on plain ignorance to think you would not determine this on your own."

Her lips were a straight line, tense and unmoving. Lyonel's dark blue eyes stared into Renly's, pleased by the humiliation and fear he saw. _It seems there is nothing truly more fearsome than the silence of a protective matriarch._

"You greet me as if a friend, and I defend you from the King's justified wrath, yet all along you plan to cast my daughter's betrothal and honour into the dirt?"

Margaery attempted to play at arbiter, "Such was not our intention, Lady Stark, not at all! We're prepared to compensate the House of Stark for their troubles."

"Compensate?! Do you think coin will stave my daughter's heartache?"

 _Heartache? I would not expect such exaggeration from someone as Lady Stark. The end of our betrothal will not mean the end of our friendship._

It was Lyonel's turn to play at arbiter, but unlike Margaery, he played the part flawlessly. By repeating her own words to her, he helped her see the hypocrisy in her behaviour. "Do not act so hasteful, Lady Stark. I care for Arya as well, and I am just as displeased as you. Yet you must clear your head, for only sound judgement will end this negotiation, and this negotiation might very well end the war in our favour. I lost my patience once, and I realize that. But it is clear Renly has heard my words and will not play at games again." His eyes yet remained on his traitorous uncle. "Is it not so, uncle?" A long stare from Renly was followed by a hesitant nod. "Good. So he has understood. Now, let us hear what they offer first. _All_ that they offer. Only then can we judge, when we know all facts."

Catelyn now willed herself to be calm before sighing. "Forgive me."

"It is of no trouble, my lady," responded Renly, as if she apologized to him. He smiled towards his nephew, as false as his previous ones. Only, this time it was a hint of nervousness hidden. "I'm elated to see you thinking clearly on our request, your grace."

 _Only when he believes me to be eating from his hand does he refer to me as king._

Stannis placed his arms on the armrests of his seat, and turned his head to Lyonel, "Your grace, surely you cannot mean to break the betrothal to the Starks. As you have spoken, the North has bled and so has the Starks. This would cause great offence and dishonour in their eyes. It would not do for a king to cast his loyal vassals aside at the first possibility at gaining great power to command. Power, I should mention, that is yours to command in the first place."

"Lord Stannis has spoken true, your grace," said Lady Catelyn. "You acknowledged our struggles and sacrifices with words, now you must acknowledge it with your actions. My king... I beseech you, as we have shown our loyalty to you as king, show your loyalty to us as your vassals."

Lyonel met Renly's eyes once again, "Lord Stannis and Lady Stark present sound arguments. No longer am I certain of my choice, Lord Renly. We shall continue this meeting in a few days time. Until then, I must think upon my answer, and consult my advisors."

He was pleased to see the anger and impatience in the grown man's eyes. And like a puppet, he played the part just as Lyonel wished, cleverly keeping his mask of cordiality, "Of course, nephew. Take all the time you need. This is far from trivial. Make the right decision."

 _I will. And when I have, not even your bedwarmer knight will be able to save you from the fate you deserve._

* * *

 **The Green-Eyed Beast**

* * *

With a smile and a muffled giggle, he watched Lyonel, the black prince, the Silent Storm, the Blacklyon, the arrogant little craven shit. His dear sister Myrcella must have had a bigger manhood. Speaking and speaking and speaking and fucking _speaking_! No action when the situation required it, and action only when it wasn't required. _Priorities, little Lyonel! You need to prioritize, and correctly! Not speaking to that cock-loving uncle of yours. Should have shoved another kind of rod into his arse, one that was made of steel in place of meat, get this bloody farce over with! That's not to speak of what you should have done to those women you caught, spies of Baelish and that old rotten cunt. The maid and the whore._

Oh, the things he would have done to that buxom brunette maid, had he gotten his hands on her in place of Lyonel. Pathetic celibate. The slut had tits and arse that big and plump and ripe for suckling all they were worth, and what does Lyonel do? Empty threats of rape and a quick knife to the heart. _I would have done more than empty threats. A far cry from Lyonel the Cockless_. Honestly, the man could be just like his dear uncle Renly for all he knew.

Oh yes, he had been witness to Lyonel for quite some time. Ever since he looked across the lands surrounding Winterfell, he was there, watching from a distance, green eyes attentive. He hid for a time. And he'd seen everything Lyonel saw. And things he didn't want any other to see. The soldier harassing Arya. The thought of the man made his blood boil, and the memory of his throat opening to release a flood of red pleased him ever so sweetly. Then there was that maid. He had to stop himself from thinking of her, as it only made him lament the loss of a good fucking he could have experienced. What others did he kill? Ah, yes… the three Lannister guards that assaulted that brooding girl everyone seems to call Jon, and for a reason unfathomable to him had caught Myrcella's eyes.

 _Now_ that _was something you did not disappoint with, Lyon! Mangled hands, screaming whores, bashed skulls, blood-dripping hammers!? It was a fucking dream, ecstatic!_ If only he could have had that fun, to be the one holding the hammer!

Then there was Ser Meryn, Child-raper. Well... He didn't _know_ if the man had raped a child, but it wouldn't surprise him, that's for certain. The sight of Lyonel's steel carving its way through armour, and best of all, flesh, with crimson blood dripping from the sharp tip... it was bliss, catharsis.

And finally, it had been the camp-whore. Lyonel had the bitch lifted up against a tree, her tits pressed against his face. _All you had to bloody do was whip your cock out and start thrusting! It's not that complicated, you cretin!_ _Or at least don't kill her! Leave her for me and her short life might have had some true purpose._

Yet not once had he partaken in such sweet slaughter and fun, despite his eagerness. All he had done for the past months was act as spectator. He had to, lest he reveal himself too early. But he would, soon. And until then, he will watch from the sides. Disguised as a guard, page, messenger, whatever would prove necessary. But he would never let Lyonel leave his sight.

Always watching, waiting in the shadows. Until he could finally show his true face.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Long time, no see. Sorry to have kept you all waiting so long, but... you know... high-school. So, yeah, I'm hoping this chapter was at least kind of good, and fun to read.**

 **Also, 'The Silent Storm' now has over 1,000 follows. Holy shit, that is a lot! Truthfully, I never expected this story to get this popular, not to mention that I was only 14 chapters in when I reached this milestone. I won't draw this out like some YouTuber making a 10 subscriber special video and get it over with. I absolutely adore and appreciate all the support this story has gotten since I first wrote it. I can only hope you will continue to enjoy it. I thank you all sincerely.**

 **I plan to write more interactions between Margaery and Lyonel in the next chapter, so for anyone who felt they barely interacted this chapter, don't worry. They'll be doing plenty of talking. (At least, Margaery will. Cause we all know how Lyonel is.) And I'd just LOVE to read any theories as to who that strange character at the end of the chapter is.**

 **Some have probably noticed a lack of Garrett. I've decided that I'm not going to write about him until the future (Not too far away, though, so don't worry about not seeing him until, like, 6 chapters ahead) as the plot for Lyonel right now is very important right now, so I'd rather focus on him. And once Garrett does come back, some character development and bonding with other characters will play out in the form of flashbacks.**

 **A quick, but rather trivial question: What do you all think about the new style of "Line breakers" I use. I find that putting the names in the middle is better, but I'm asking about the '** **oOoOoOo** **' line breaker. Is it distracting? Pretentious? Too much? Or good? Or maybe you're just indifferent? Please let me know in the reviews of PMs.**

 **I should also announce I've decided to rewrite the earlier chapters (AGAIN!? OMFG DOES IT EVER END!?). Yes, yes, I know. But I feel that it will attract more readers, and make them not lose interest about 4-6 chapters in. Not to mention I already have a strong foundation to improve upon, so it shouldn't take nearly as much time as a regular new chapter. The writing in some of the older chapters are pretty painful to read. But I've decided to neglect my other two stories, both of which are pretty much pet projects, with this being my main focus, so that I can complete the rewriting quicker.**

 **With that out of the way, let's move onto the reviews:**

 **Hektols: It means 'Gold'? Huh, I'm searching online and I can't find anything that says Auron means gold. I'm curious as to where you read that.**

 **Rainsfere: Auron isn't mirroring Lyonel? What makes you say that? :). You're not wrong about there being schemes and intrigue abound behind the scenes, this _is_ Game of Thrones, after all. I appreciate your support of the story.**

 **AtinyOceane: As I've stated before (I think, but I'm too tired right now to check as I'm writing), Lyonel is based off a video game character whose face I created. The game being Crusader Kings II. If you don't know what it is, just know that the characters in that game aren't the most realistic or good-looking, but Lyonel is basically based off this character I've created in the game. I've yet to share the screenshot of the character, since I'm looking for at least a decent artist to sketch/draw the character.**

 **xxValar Morghuhalisxx: She is, just not this early in the story.**

 **Marvelmyra: "Anyone who dislikes chocolate is nothing short of a heartless beast in human skin, and know that I despise all who do!" - Lyonel**

 **Guestooooooooooo: Most of these questions I can't answer, unfortunately, as it would spoil for anyone who could possibly be reading this. Even if it wouldn't ruin it for others, I'd rather not spoil for anyone, even if they think they want it. However, I can answer two of them. Yes, I've seen all six seasons, and I'm currently halfway through the latest book. (I'm re-reading it). And yes, Ned is still Jon's father.**

 **DalysanneSnow: Listen... We all have flaws, some people breathe through their mouths, some people pour ketchup ON their french fries, some people have sociopathic tendencies and bash holes into peoples' skulls with a hammer. HOWEVER... the important thing is that we love them for who they TRULY are on the inside. Lyonel is no exception.**

 **Dark Serpent Cat: I'm glad you enjoy the story. I haven't put much thought into writing a chapter in Tywin's POV, quite honestly, and if Tywin does respect Lyonel in some way (which is unlikely seeing how Lyonel talked about the only person Tywin truly loved in his life) it would have to be extremely reluctant respect. As for his past, it is only privy to a select few, all of whom we have seen save for one, who we have only heard being spoken about. (Let the guessing game begin.)**

 **Boomshanka: "Never have I heard of this figure called... Batman. He sounds as if his origins were but a part in a mummer's play." - Lyonel**

 **Until next time, people!**


End file.
